#but it sends me. as the person who came up with it

[periprose]

May i request a Logan x angel!reader fic where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

anon I loved this ask ahhhh thank you. I'm like half considering making this a series if people want it (so send more angel requests if you're into it!) <3 I may have made it more angsty but there is fluff at the end :) also reader goes by Angel in this fic.

When Flight Comes to Fire (or, Logan gains an Angel)

Word count: 4.5k

Genre: Best friends to lovers, mutual pining, X-Men stuff, idiots in love, angst, hurt no comfort, fluff, kissing

The first time your mutation made it’s appearance– sharp shoulder blades growing into thick appendages, soft, buttery white feathers extending from them in that unhuman way, your wingspan making it clear you would never be normal– your mother retched and said she would have done anything to chop them off of you. Would’ve done anything to have a normal kid.

In fact, she tried, multiple times, to do so. You were only twelve when she came at you for the first time, in your sleep, feeling falsely secure in your father’s platitudes about how she would never really do anything. You woke up to her reaching inside your blanket, grasping one of your wings as she brandished a knife in her other hand. Luckily, your wings were strong enough to shove her off, but you remember how you screamed at her.

Why, mom? It’s me! It’s me–

She didn’t listen, coming at you again, promising in delirious anger that everything would be okay soon if you would just let her fix it, and she had to be held back by your father, as he called the police. 

Because you were her kid, she got let off with a warning, and you were stuck. So you would often fly to the tallest treetops and take your rest there, trying your best to ignore your mother’s other attempts on your life. She didn’t seem to ever get it. You would never be normal.

The final attempt was probably the worst, and the one that caused you to fly away in the end to Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

You were twenty years old, just old enough to legally leave home– you only stayed because your father insisted. 

She set your favourite tree on fire. You had no idea your mom had been in enough anguish to essentially murder you for daring to be different.

You awoke to the deep smell of smoke, of tree bark charring, and then you heard the cracking and sparks. The tree quickly caught fire, and you shrieked in pure terror as the heat of the flames approached you. The immense light emitting from the fire blinded you, and suddenly there was a sharp pain from your wings and back– you were getting scorched.

So you flew upwards, high enough that the fire dissipated off your back instantly in the cool night sky’s air, and you were fine. Nothing to show other than a little scar, and the sounds of mutiny coming from your mother below. 

You chose to forget her– no point in repairing a relationship with a woman who didn’t want you as you were.

But you’ve never forgotten the pain of being burned alive.

/

“Angel. You ready?” Logan is to your right in the foyer of the mansion. “Everyone else is waiting in the helicarrier.”

He’s your best friend, has been ever since you came to the X-Mansion as a runaway. It’s not an uncommon story among mutants, but Logan always felt you were like him. Rough, not the easiest to speak to, having a tendency to keep to yourself.

The major difference to him is that you’re a lot easier on the eyes. 

Seriously, it was almost like the universe was playing a joke on him. Here was a beautiful girl with literal angel wings, just missing a halo as she arrived at the door for the School for the first time, and he just happened to be the first ugly motherfucker to open the door.

Logan’s never quite sure why you keep up with him, why you stay friends with him, if he was just lucky enough to be the first person you saw and liked. It drives him nuts, the way in which you rely on him, trust him more than he thinks he deserves, you come to him at every moment just to talk over everyone else, when surely you could have anyone else’s attention.

Especially any stupid guy, like him. He’s not sure how you haven’t noticed– even now on the staircase, he can’t tear his gaze away from you. Logan feels bad to be so in love with you, too– he wonders if he’s reading into things too much, if he’s pushing for something that isn’t really there.

And he’ll never know, because you’re so damn flighty. Logan can barely keep up with your whims, and he only knows as much as you’ll tell him about yourself (he hardly knows where you came from that fateful first day), so he just lets you come and go as you please. He’ll keep his feelings deep inside, where you can’t possibly find out about it.

“Yup, I’m fine.” You have a brief smile for him, which gives him that familiar twist of the stomach. “Oh. You’re not wearing your uniform?”

“It’s better to be incognito for this one, according to Scott.” Logan says, adjusting his flannel, mildly enjoying how you check him out. 

You’re wearing the typical X-Men uniform– bright yellow, blue stripes down your sides, room for wings with a removable panel in the back. You let them loose, now, telling Logan you’ll be right back.

When you return, with quite a flourish, flapping wings in a true superhero-landing– Logan sees that you’re wearing a tank-top, and some jeans that really, really highlight your ass– but he tries not to focus on that.

“Hey. Tank’s inside out, Angel.” Logan says, waiting for you to fly off again, but you simply take off the tank top, and pull it back on the right way, exposing your bra-covered chest and lithe waist for the briefest of moments, while Logan loses whatever he was about to say. “I…”

“Don’t be a perv, Logan.” You jokingly side-eye him, never suspecting that that could actually be true as you tease him. “You’ve seen me change tons of times.”

“Yeah, but out in the open?” Logan stares at you. “You’re gonna have a shit-ton of admirers if you keep that up.”

“It’s just me, please.” You start up this whole I’m-not-pretty schtick that Logan is pretty sick of hearing, and he shakes his head. “Let’s go. They’re waiting.”

Yeah, Logan thinks, they are waiting, but he’s not sure you needed to be all quick and nonchalant about changing, just to get there faster.

That’s what he means by you being flighty– who knows what’s really in your heart, when you act so quickly?

/

“Listen up, X-Men. We’re gonna do our best to avoid damages today, right?” Scott speaks with the air of a leader who’s very fed up with his team members. 

There’s a resounding yes from everyone, including you, Logan, Jean, Storm, Bobby, Rogue, Jubilee, and Kitty.

“What’s our mission?” Scott says, and you answer first.

“Find the new mutant.” You state, and Scott nods, while Logan hides a smile at how adept you’ve gotten at these missions.

“Make sure he doesn’t defect to the Brotherhood.” Jean adds, looking at you and Logan, seeing how close you two sit to each other. She’s kept it to herself– but Jean thinks if you and Logan really do have something going on, that would be nice. For the both of you.

“No damages.” Logan chimes in, and Scott visibly loses a little composure.

“I already said that.” Scott points out, and Logan shrugs. 

“Well, it’s part of the plan, isn’t it?” Logan leans back in his seat on the helicarrier, nestling his head next to your shoulder, not noticing the way your eyebrows raise at the sudden contact. “Better than me not listening at all.”

“Sure, Logan. Fine.” Scott lets it go, knowing better than to ask more from the most “chill” (read: laziest) member of the team.

You laugh a little as Logan smiles a cocky grin.

/

The new mutant is kind of old– you’re looking for a 19 year old with severe singing around his clothes, pale skin, and black hair. You suppose he’d be extremely frightened.

Most mutants don’t deal well with becoming different all so suddenly, let alone at the very late age of 19, when you could assume that you’re pretty much normal. So you and Jean are hoping to find him first– you figure you’re the two that could calm him down.

Unfortunately, you find Jubilee talking to him first. She’s okay, but she has a tendency to be a little too bombastic, as Jean says quite often.

“And there she goes.” Jean grimaces as Jubilee taps the new mutant’s shoulder, and you pick up her saying that “she’s just like him,” which you’re not sure is a delicate way to deal with the topic.

There are crowds of people walking through the streets, too, and a lot of them are glancing at this yellow-jacketed girl talking to a boy with burnt clothes.

If you had found him, you would have brought him to the side, away from people, and–

“His face turned white. He’s freaking out.” You tell Jean, and her eyes narrow.

Bobby, Rogue, and Kitty are nowhere in sight, so this is just one weird young adult speaking to another one, and you really, really wish the rest were here. You, Jean, Logan and Scott are a bit older– perhaps comforting in your age– but you feel like the boy would’ve done well with more peers.

Jubilee raises her hand as you and Jean approach her. “Guys, I got it under control. See, Kyle, these are more people like us. More mutants.”

“...” Kyle looks on in disbelief.

“Kyle?” You try, and he looks at you– there’s something in his eyes that tells you he wants to trust you, but he’s scared– it reminds you of yourself. “We’re here for you if you want us to be. Take your time. Don’t worry.”

You smile, Jean smiles, Jubilee grins, and Kyle seems okay.

It lasts for about two seconds.

Someone drops what sounds like a glass bottle in the distance, and the shattering sound is enough for Jubilee to gasp, a little spark of fireworks launching from her fingertips, towards Kyle, who watches on in trepidation, and his body starts shaking, moving of it’s own accord, clearly reacting to being so close to another form of heat– and you and Jean move, as you yell out “Wait!–”

Kyle shrieks in fear as his body becomes overtaken with flames, combusting with such intensity that the flames roar at least 100 feet over, and Jean– Phoenix that she is– is able to withstand the heat, but you find yourself being pushed back by hot gusts of wind.

It hurts, it feels as if your skin is melting with every passing second. You grit your teeth, trying to breathe as Kyle loses control of his body, and you open your wings, deciding that flying off into the cool air would be a better alternative.

That was a mistake on your part.

The moment you open your wings, Kyle’s fire pushes you backwards, and up, into the hot air, and your wings catch fire as you come too close–

You scream, but it’s unheard through the roar of the flames, and you barely have time to catch yourself as you fall towards the ground, smoking, fiery tendrils engulfing you.

The last thing you remember is your mother’s face.

/

Logan sees it happen from a distance.

Scott wanted him to be as close as possible, something about keeping watch on him– and Logan gets it, he’s not always the most responsible, but later on, in hindsight, he wishes he was, because then he wouldn’t have missed what happened to you– and they both turn as a fire overtakes a block of the city.

“Shit, that must be him!” Scott starts running, Logan not far behind.

It’s only when he sees a pair of white wings, a woman flying up, up, up, the fire approaching dangerously close to her– to you– he starts speeding up, overtaking Scott, pushing people out of the way.

Logan wonders what he could do, anyways. He’s invincible, practically, incapable of taking on much damage as his regenerative abilities heal him– perhaps he could run to the kid and knock him out, sustaining burns in the process, but better him than you.

Never you.

Any second now– Logan sees the boy, and he’s got an open fist ready to lightly tap the back of his neck.

He’s not fast enough. Scott yells out, and Logan looks up to see you engulfed in flames, as you scream, and it’s awful to hear– usually you seemed so speedy, so ready to fly at a moment’s notice, that Logan forgot you could be hurt.

He calls out your name. It’s unheard by you as you crash on the ground, still burning– Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue have caught up to you from the other side of the street, and Bobby quickly makes an icy mist that subdues the flames on you, and Kyle’s roaring fire back into him.  

You’re unconscious as the X-Men approach you. 

Logan touches your face as he kneels next to you, the only one willing to come close right now. “Hey, Angel…”

There’s that unspoken fondness between you two, yet again. Everyone knows, even when Logan has tried to act cool about it. Even now, when Logan attempts to act like he isn’t totally hanging on to your potential words, searching for a breath, a little movement of your head. 

Jean, Scott, Jubilee, and the rest look on in trepidation.

You don’t respond, and he feels his heart plummet. You’re covered in burns, mostly across your stomach and back, and he inhales sharply as he turns you over– there’s fresh, scalded skin, crispy-red to the touch.

Your back, your wings– they’re damaged so badly, with feathers singed straight off, the muscular appendages more visible and wounded, and Logan doesn’t know if you’re alive. He almost removes his hands from you, the very thought seeming to scald him from the inside, and he glares at the kid– the one who looks terribly guilty, now, as he runs away.

“Get back here!” Kitty shouts at him, anger in her eyes, and Scott pulls her aside, explaining that it was clearly an accident of sorts– something that Jean confirms for him with a nod of her head.

Right, Jean. Logan knows that if anyone could confirm if you’re alive, it would be her.  

As Scott, Kitty, Bobby, and Jubilee go hunting for the kid– Rogue stays behind because she’s always felt close to you and Logan– Logan looks up at Jean in a solemn, teary-eyed look that has her understanding immediately.

“C’mon, Angel… stay with us.” She mutters, as she presses her fingers to your head, and she smiles comfortingly at Logan.

“She’s still here. Just barely, but still here.” Jean says, and Logan sighs, an angry, long sigh that tells Jean and Rogue that he’s going to be insufferably feeling at-fault here, even though no one is.

“Let’s go.” He picks you up, feeling the burnt skin through that damn tank-top, now barely being held together as tatters– for modesty’s sake, he takes off his flannel and wraps it around you.

Rogue lets Logan and you walk forward a bit, not wanting him to hear what she’s about to say, and then looks towards Jean. “He really loves her, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Jean exhales. “Let’s hope for his sake that she’ll be okay.”

/

Stupid bitch! You’ve been nothing but a curse on this family– fuck you, I hope your future daughter is just as fucked up as you are–

You awake suddenly, with a loud gasp and yell, your mother’s last words to you flashing on your mind– you attempt to pull yourself forward restrained back by tubing in your arm. You’re stuck in a bed. In a hospital bed of sorts.

Not just any hospital bed, one in the hospital wing of the X-Mansion.

You’re calm, at first, until there’s a sudden ache echoing from your back, through your body, through your wings.

“Ah–!” You groan in pain. Trying to move suddenly has hurt you.

There’s a knock at your door. It’s Beast– or, Dr. Hank McCoy, as he’s better known around the hospital wing.

“You’re awake.” Hank says in relief. “It’s been a few days since your accident.”

“It has?” You widen your eyes in shock. “How, w-what… am I okay?”

The last thing you remember is Kyle exploding in flames, causing you to catch fire– then you blacked out, and– you’re having terrible memories of your mother.

“Hank?” You mutter, and he’s quick to come to your side, blue paw-hand holding your own.

“My mother didn’t…”

“No, she’s not here. She’s never come close to you. You’re safe.” Hank states, as Charles has told him to, remembering the few times you’ve had to come to the hospital wing for comfort before. 

So many mutants have troubled backstories, and he doesn’t quite understand why you don’t try to connect with others about it. Hank feels it could really help, but you’ve always changed the subject away from you.

You’re hurt, mentally, in a way that no one can really fix, and Hank is a big believer in letting people progress when they need to– but he’s so glad that you’ve bonded with Logan. 

“Am I going to be okay?” You tap the side of the bed, fears present in your eyes. “Last thing I remember is Kyle going crazy, and I– I got all burnt–”

“Yes, you’re going to be okay. We’ve administered lots of injections, topical ointments, everything that boosts your healing. You might have some scarring after this is all over, but no injuries. You’re very lucky, Angel.” Hank comforts you, and encourages you to lie back.  

“Lucky. Is that what you’d call a girl with a fucked up state of mind?” You murmur, and Hank shakes his head.

“We’re all fucked up.” Hank gets back up, leaving you in your room. “It’s a prerogative to being in the X-Men.”

You smile softly at that. He’s not wrong, but you wish, you really wish you could’ve just been that normal girl that your parents would’ve loved.

You look down at yourself. You’re wearing hospital scrubs, but there’s an unfamiliar fabric underneath the blanket.

Logan’s flannel is splayed across your stomach, a comforting, soft feeling that has you missing him almost instantly. Had he visited you, when you were unconscious, and decided to leave you this as a token, to help you feel at home? 

You lift it up, taking a deep smell of Logan’s signature scent– pinewood, smoke, and something kind of sweet, like… marshmallows? 

It makes you blush, but almost immediately after, you place the flannel back under the blanket. Logan doesn’t need your silly crush, your overt attachment, and you’re smart enough to keep that to yourself.

/

Logan hears from Hank that you’re awake, and although he wonders why Hank told him first, rather than Charles, or Jean, he’s glad to be the first one to see you.

“Hey.” He knocks on your door. To Logan’s surprise, he lets go of a breath he was holding– you don’t look horrific, you have some colour in your face, and there’s a soft smile on your lips when you see him.

You look just like Angel. His best friend. And he comes in real close, ruffling your hair as he often does, maybe more gentle because he doesn’t want to add any more pain.

“Hey, Logan.” You grab his hand, squeezing it with warmth, grateful to see him, before letting go suddenly and looking away bashfully, and he pauses, reminding himself not to think too highly of it.

“Angel. You’re feeling better?” He asks, and you motion for him to sit down on the edge of your bed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel okay.” You stare at him. It’s only been a few days, but Logan looks kind of awful– he’s got some serious dark under-eye bags going on, and stubble that is slowly turning into a beard, and there’s an apparent worry on his face that makes you just want to comfort him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Logan tries to ward off your answer with a stern, one word reply, but you’re not having it.

“Really? You don’t look so great.” You say, not without tact. “I hope you weren’t all cooped up in your room, worrying about me.”

Logan makes a sound that’s half way between a sigh, and a laugh at how close you always seem to get to the truth.

“Alright, yeah. Yeah, I was worried to hell about you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” He jokes, but your face falls.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m good now, I don’t…” There’s an air of seriousness coming from you, that Logan doesn’t typically see, something you usually don’t let yourself do. 

“Are you good? Let me see your back, Angel–” Before Logan can even move you to the side, you turn in defiance, letting him see that you are healing. There are still parts of your flesh, red and angry, but for the most part it seems okay, already far better than it was a couple days ago.

Logan breathes a sigh of relief, touching your wings with a tenderness that has you leaning into his touch, and he gently skims over a scar of yours, glad to see that you’re genuinely not as hurt as he thought– but you pull away quite quickly.

“See? You don’t need to care so much, I’m fine.” You sound accidentally very accusatory, but Logan is just as much of a stubborn asshole as you are sometimes, and he narrows his eyes.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He stares at you. “We’re friends, aren��t we? Friends care about each other. Jesus, you’re the one who always– you’re always checking up on me, sneaking into my room, touching my face and arms and– how else am I supposed to take that?”

It sounds romantic, Logan realizes, after he’s spit all that out– and it does sound like he’s putting the blame of your dynamic on you. And, even worse, it’s all just out there in the open.

“Really. I’m not the only one who cares, Logan, you…” You shake your head, and instead pull his flannel out from under the blanket. “You left this for me. Why do you make it sound like it’s all just me?”

“Okay, fine, it isn’t. Leave it alone, Angel.” Logan pleads a little, his face turning red.

“You’re always acting like I’m gorgeous, you constantly hug me and lean into me, there was that time you let me sleep on top of you–” You continue, feeling more and more confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you sound like an asshole.”

Logan blinks, feeling the argument dissipate, as it often does, whenever you get close to confronting each other about feelings– you always manage to fly away.

He won’t let you, not this time.

“You didn’t. I am an asshole– I’ve never bothered to tell you how I feel.” Logan mutters, and the way your face blanches in fear, shyness, tells him to keep going, to push the boundaries. “I let my own stupid ego get in the way of actually caring about you, and I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’ve always– I really love you, Angel. And I’m sorry I never made you feel like that was true, I’m sorry that it’s taken until you got hurt for it to be real.”

You have an incredulous look on your face, one Logan wishes he could take a picture of and frame somewhere, because it’s genuinely funny, but then your lip quivers, and he feels like an asshole again.

You feel like an idiot. You think, all this time, what’s bothered you is that you’ve been avoiding the fire– the real ones, sure, but more the things your mother fostered in you. Your trust issues, the way how you hold people dearly in your heart but you can’t let them get close because you worry you’ll never be enough, it’s all been burning for years inside you, and you’ve never had to confront it until Logan decided to stoke the flames.

“It’s always been real for me, too.” You whisper, trying not to cry. “I just… I don’t always believe if people care about me, I never feel good enough to be something for anyone. It’s not you, Logan, it’s my mom, my upbringing, really.”

You give him a short, brief explanation of what your mom did– something you’ll surely expand on later, when it’s not so fresh, when you haven’t been literally burned recently, and the memories pain you more than ever– and Logan’s face turns sharp, his brows furrow, he’s clearly deeply angry by whatever you’ve just told him. 

“I’m stupid. I just assumed– it was me putting too much pressure on you. You shouldn’t have been on this mission, that’s fucking awful.” He finally says, and then scowls. “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but fuck that lady.”

You snort at that. “Yeah. Yeah, it was never you– I’ve always loved you too, Logan, more than you know. I’m sorry I’m always running from you.”

“Oh, so you’re consciously doing that?” He teases, trying not to react too much to your proclamation of love for him, although his brain feels as if it’s short-circuited. He squeezes your hand, and you laugh.

“Yup. I’m almost glad I got hurt, if it makes us more serious.” You comment, but Logan turns glum at that.

“Don’t say that, Angel. I still feel bad about it.” Logan holds your face, caressing your cheeks, staring into your eyes, glad now that you’re not going to shove him away. “Next time, I’ll try to take the hits. I’ll live.”

“You don’t have to–” Before you can start rejecting Logan’s offer, he leans in really close, almost kissing you but not quite, his breath hot on your own mouth.

“I want you to live.” He murmurs, and you feel yourself turn warm at that. 

When he presses his lips to yours, it’s almost chaste, because Logan still isn’t sure how many of your walls he can break down in one day– but for once you’re quick to act in the opposite direction now, lifting tubes out of your arm (irresponsible as hell, Logan would say later on) so you can better reach his face, and you run your fingers through his hair as you kiss him, again, and again. 

It’s soft, pliant, and warm, and Logan doesn’t quite know what to say when you come back up for air, breathing deeply, body sweaty from both recovery and how intense this is– he feels around you, around your waist as he leans in again, and you giggle, pulling away for just a moment before kissing him again.

His hands are gentle, skimming over your body without trying to hurt the burns on your back– but Logan feels you clamber onto him, onto his lap, and then he feels the soft feathers of your wings as they pull themselves outward, into the open.

He opens his eyes, and grins in a wolfish manner. Maybe you’ve been changed by what happened, maybe you aren’t the same, but you’re his Angel now, and he prefers that.

He kisses you again.

[mythicalmaven]

omg i saw your prompt list and I'm a sucker for oscar lately, so i thought 45 (God, I am so in love with you) with him? fluff please :)

i love your writing btw!

First Kiss - Oscar Piastri (requested)

Masterlist ↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!reader ↳word count: 0.8K ↳summary: In which Oscar wins the Azerbaijan GP & finally kisses you for the first time ↳prompts used: 45 - "God, I am so in love with you"

Oscar had been in love with you for years, a secret he’d kept tucked away in the corners of his heart, afraid of what would happen if he ever let it out. He’d watch you laugh, your eyes sparkling with a light that made everything else fade away, and he’d feel his chest tighten with the words he could never quite say.

You’d been his best friend since forever, the person who knew him better than anyone else. Every victory, every defeat—you were there, cheering him on or comforting him in the quiet moments when the world seemed too much. But as much as he cherished your friendship, he was terrified to risk it by confessing his feelings, convinced that you saw him as nothing more than a friend.

It was a thought that haunted him every time he caught you looking at him with that warm smile, every time your hand brushed against his, sending electric shocks through his body. He couldn’t imagine a life without you in it, so he swallowed down his love, settling for being your best friend even if it meant his heart ached every time you were near.

But everything changed the morning of the Baku race. He was in the paddock, nerves buzzing under his skin as he tried to focus on the upcoming race, terribly failing as he catched himself staring at you once again. But then Lando came up to him with a knowing smile.

“You know she’s in love with you too, right?” Lando said casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on him.

Oscar blinked, his brain struggling to process the words. “What?”

“Yeah,” he continued, oblivious to the way his heart was suddenly racing. “She’s been head over heels for you for ages. Honestly, it’s kind of obvious. I thought you knew.”

He stood there, stunned, his mind spinning as everything he thought he knew shifted. You were in love with him? All those moments he’d dismissed as wishful thinking, the lingering touches, the way you looked at him—had he been blind to it all?

"Are you sure?" Oscar asked, completely dumbfounded. Afraid that Lando might got the wrong signals, that it wasn't what he thought it was.

"Couldn't be more sure" Lando smiled at him, patting his shoulder "Mate, she legit told me, 'I wonder if Oscar has any idea how crazy I am about him.' That clear enough for you?" he chuckled, mocking your love sick tone "Didn't wan't to be the one to spill the beans, but I'm pretty sure the both of you otherwise would have been too shy too ever confess to each other"

His heart soared, hope blossoming in his chest, but there was no time to process it. The call for the race was going out, and he had to get to the grid. He barely remembered the moments that followed, his body moving on autopilot as he climbed into the car, his mind consumed by thoughts of you.

And when he crossed the finish line, his first instinct wasn’t to celebrate the victory—it was to find you, to tell you everything he’d been holding back for so long. Because now he knew. And he wasn’t going to let another moment slip by without you knowing, too.

He glanced around, searching the crowd with an urgency you’d never seen before. When his eyes locked onto yours, a grin split his face. Without a second thought, he handed his helmet to a nearby mechanic and practically sprinted toward you. Your heart leaped into your throat as he reached the barrier, reaching out to lift you over it with ease. His hands found your face, cupping your cheeks with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intense look in his eyes.

“Oscar—” you began, but your words were cut off as he crashed his lips onto yours, his kiss filled with a raw, unspoken longing. You gasped against his mouth, stunned, but the surprise quickly melted into warmth as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

The crowd erupted in cheers, their shouts echoing around you, but it all faded into a blur. It was just the two of you, standing there in the middle of the chaos, wrapped up in each other. The kiss was everything you’d ever dreamed of—soft yet demanding, sweet but full of a simmering passion that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the joy and relief radiating from him, his lips moving against yours with a mix of exhilaration and tenderness that made your legs weak.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and dazed, Oscar rested his forehead against yours, his eyes sparkling with unspoken words. His thumb brushed over your cheek as he searched your gaze, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I love you too, by the way,” he whispered, his voice slightly breathless but steady.

A giggle bubbled up from your chest, pure happiness spilling over as you leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. The cameras were still flashing, the crowd still cheering, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his hands and the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

Oscar’s gaze never left you, his grin widening with each passing moment. Finally, he could hold you the way he’d always longed to. He’d admired you for so long, captivated by your beauty. But now, seeing you up close, you looked even more stunning. He was completely smitten. “God, I am so in love with you.”

Masterlist

[hyunebunx]

Wow I’m stupid I pressed send way too fast 🩵 with Lee Know??

˖˙ ᰋ ── 🩵 - kissing in the rain with Minho

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: a teeny tiny amount of angst but it has a happy ending

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: thank you sm for requesting!!! <3 i had soo many ways of writing this in my head that i struggled lol. i really hope you like what i came up with. it's loosely (very) based on the rain scene in pride and prejudice so enjoy!! <33

Arguments were not a usual occurrence in your relationship. Most of the time you managed to settle any disagreement before it could escalate to such heights, the perfectly communicating couple all of your friends couldn’t help but feel a little envious of.

Now was not one of those times; your stress and emotions were getting the best of both you and Minho in the most unpleasant way. You hated arguing with him, getting angry and unable to see the other’s point of view, clouded by the desire to be right and make each other understand where you were coming from.

“You don’t get it.” Minho shakes his head with a sigh, forearms resting on the wheel as the rain poured outside your safe haven, hitting the windshield at an alarming pace and preventing you from seeing anything, even with the headlights on.

“Explain it to me, then!” You bite back, body facing his in the heated passenger seat that was keeping you warm and cozy despite the chill outside. Even when arguing you could admit Minho was the most considerate person alive – you didn’t ask him to turn on the heat, he must have done it when he noticed you trembling like a leaf after getting in.

He surprised you after work, dropping by and driving directly to one of your favorite restaurants just in time for dinner and a well deserved date night. Everything was perfect, the location, the food, and especially the company, laughing and having a great time with the love of your life.

Until things turned sour on your drive home, and what started as a silly disagreement turned into a full-on argument about something you didn’t find significant enough even to remember.

“That’s what I’ve been doing for the past ten minutes but it seems you don’t want to listen!”

You’ve been walking (or driving) in circles, with him getting frustrated and you following right on his tail until the car came to a stop right in front of your apartment building.

It’s not like you didn’t want to listen or care to hear him out, it’s just that Minho seemed to make something out of nothing, insisting and pushing forth the same idea like you were nothing more than a child who lacked basic comprehension. It was frustrating and exhausting, especially after the long day you’ve had.

“Min, I’ve been listening.” You try to smooth things over, warm hand landing on his thigh comfortingly. “Just because I’m not giving you the answers you want doesn’t mean I’m not hearing you.”

Minho remains silent, head turned the other way to stare out the window and not acknowledge your presence. When the silence stretches on, you give up with a sigh and retract your hand, reaching for your purse in the backseat and opening the car door in the same breath.

“What are you – “ You close it right before he can finish the sentence, set on getting inside with or without him to finally take the bubble bath you’ve been daydreaming about all day at work.

“Kitten!” His voice follows a moment later, the sound of the car door slamming louder than him amongst the deafening rain. “Y/n!”

Despite yourself and the insanity of spending even one more minute in this storm, you stop and allow him to catch up, not protesting as his warm hands land on your shoulders and turn you around almost desperately.

“Where are you going? We are not done talking.” He states, dark hair and clothes getting soaked at an alarming pace as the rain spares neither of you.

“But I am!” You exhale, the chill settling into your bones. “We won’t reach an agreement like this so let’s just stop!”

His eyes widen as he pulls you closer, chest to chest, figures illuminated by the bright headlights almost blinding. “Baby, wait – “

“I hate fighting with you, Min.” Without meaning to, you interrupt him once again, reaching up to cup his face and drag him closer. “I’m sorry, okay? We can talk this over calmly inside after we cool down. Just not like this, please, I can’t do it anymore.”

He nods instantly, agreeing without a doubt and most likely seeing his faults too, and not only yours. Then, when you expect him to let go and finally follow you in, Minho surprises you the second time tonight by leaning over and connecting your lips in a kiss full of passion and love, reminding you once again that the heart in his chest beats first and foremost for you. His upper limbs cling to your body just like your clothes, hugging you tightly while your hands squeeze his face affectionately, a smile sneaking past and pulling one from him as well, on the verge of beaming into the kiss.

The rain seems to disappear, the cold too, like you weren’t bothered by either in the first place. Minho has that effect on you, helping you see the good in every situation. Sure, the location was not ideal – nothing could be less romantic than a barely lit parking lot – but as always, the company mattered more. And the message he was trying to send. When words failed you, actions worked better, speaking louder and getting your point across without much effort.

Sure, the argument wasn’t resolved but you both managed to make the other understand what mattered the most. You might be disagreeing now, momentarily stuck in a small pothole along the way, but you still loved each other, you would get over it and be okay in the end.

Because that’s what true love meant. Getting through things together and continuing to walk down your joined paths, hand in hand, no matter how many potholes or rough patches you encounter. A small setback won’t ever erase your feelings for each other, or make you forget all the beautiful moments you’ve shared.

And maybe, just maybe, a kiss was all you needed to finally understand Minho’s point when you sat down and resolved things that night. He, on the other hand, needed a few more to be satisfied.

[toadtoru]

GOOD LUCK BABE

when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night / with your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife / and when you think about me, all of those years ago / you're standing face to face with "i told you so"

pairing: shoko x fem!reader contents: angst, angst, angst, no curses au, reader is rich, reader is addressed with she/her pronouns, childhood friends to ???, no-curse au, some gojo x reader, alcohol consumption, smoking and weed wordcount: 4k

“Do you like him?”

You’re twenty-one the second time Shoko asks you this question. You’re out on the balcony, attempting to ignore the loud yelling and music being blasted from the small apartment behind you. You lean over the railing, looking down at the people below you. Shoko takes another drag of her cigarette. She glances back at the closed door behind you. She can easily catch the white blob of hair amongst the partygoers. 

“Of course I do! You’re all my best friends.” 

You both know that it’s not what Shoko means.

“Yeah, but do you like him?” Shoko repeats, and you pout when you realise that she’s not letting you off the hook. You send her a look while gently tapping your fingers against the railing. Shoko’s eyes follow the movement, trying not to glare at the diamond ring on your finger. 

You grew up different; Shoko knows that. Whereas she and Suguru grew up relatively normal, had parents who worked simple jobs and came home to cook dinner, you and Satoru were raised by maids and strict rules. She supposes this is the reason you’re so nonchalant about all this. Whereas Shoko as always had the choice, you never had. Still, it bothers her how willingly you let yourself be captured, how little you fight for the freedom to be your own person. She wishes she could shake you till you understood, but instead, she’s stuck here on this shitty balcony, hoping that you might answer her question truthfully for once. She takes another drag of her cigarette, inhaling deeply and hoping that you won’t notice how tense her shoulders are. 

“It doesn’t matter if I like him,” you say, shrugging. You glance over at Shoko, and something passes between you for a moment. Your eyes flicker to her lips, still wrapped around her cigarette. It’s barely a second before you’re making eye contact again. 

“I’m just happy my parents chose Gojo and not that asshole from Zenin Enterprises.” 

You’re twenty when you go to a bar for the first time. It’s your birthday, officially the last one to turn twenty out of the four of you. It’s the first time in six months that you managed to get together. After you graduated, Satoru immediately started working at his dad's company; you and Shoko started at separate universities; and Suguru… well, none of you really know what he’s doing. Shoko recalls him saying he has some kind of sales job that causes him to travel a lot. 

By this time, purple circles have settled under Shoko’s eyes, and cigarettes are a staple in her purse. In all honesty, she doesn’t want to be here. It’s a fancy place—more of a club than a bar, really. Satoru’s choice, of course. There’s no way that you picked this place. 

You look stunning. Dressed in a top and a mini skirt, you look both expensive and endlessly tempting. You’ve already drank some at your place, where you all started, and you’re pleasantly giggly, hanging on Satoru's arm. Shoko wishes you’d hang off her like that, but recently there’s been a weird divide between you. You’re hard to get a hold of. 

You catch her eyes and smile. “You look nice tonight, Sho,” you say, lips curling teasingly as you reach out to pull a piece of hair behind her ear. “Your hair has gotten longer,” you add with a hum. 

Shoko shrugs. Suguru and Satoru are talking about something that she’s not a part of, so she moves closer to you. “How have you been?” she asks casually, trying to act like she isn’t hanging off every word you say. 

“Come dance with me,” you reply, grabbing her hand and pulling her out on the dancefloor. Shoko follows you wordlessly. She’s never been much for dancing, but for you, she’ll make an exception. 

“I’m alright,” you say. “School is hard,” you add, and Shoko follows the way your body moves, easily falling into a rhythm with the music. She wonders why you couldn’t have this conversation at the bar, but in a way, she’s happy that she doesn’t have to share you with the boys for a while. Your fingers are intertwined as you both ignore everyone else on the crowded dance floor. It’s hot, and the music blasts from the speakers beside the DJ, all contributing to making Shoko feel dizzy. 

“What about you, Sho?” you ask, dancing closer. 

“School is hard,” she repeats after you, grinning when you roll your eyes. You dance for a little while longer, silence creating a distance between you. Shoko wonders why it’s like this all of a sudden. You used to always be close; the silence between you was never uncomfortable like this. 

“I miss you,” Shoko says. She doesn’t even know why she says it. These are the kinds of things Shoko feels in silence. She never shares them with other people. But for some reason, she can’t stand the thought of not being able to share it with you. You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“I’m dating Satoru.” 

Cutting Shoko open with a scalpel would probably have hurt less. The music becomes white noise, the room feels small, and the air becomes hard to breathe. She looks towards the bar where Satoru’s talking with Suguru. As if on queue, Satoru looks up from his conversation to look at the two of you. He smiles at Shoko when their eyes meet. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. Bastard. It’s always him, isn’t it? 

“I need a cigarette,” Shoko mumbles, walking towards the smoking area of the club. 

“Sho,” you say, following her as she makes her way through the dancefloor towards the doors with the smoking sign. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you say, and Shoko shakes her head as she pushes the door open and exits onto a small rooftop. The air is chilly, and there are several people already there, smoking and talking. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat as Shoko lights her cigarette and takes a long drag. “Will you at least look at me?”

She does. Soft, kind brown eyes locked on you. You’ve always revelled in Shoko’s attention. It made you feel special to be deserving of it, for a person who’s usually nonchalant and seemingly careless, that you were interesting enough. Even when she would tease you and push your buttons, you liked it.

You don’t like it right now.

“Why?” Shoko asks. Your brows knit together. 

“Shoko, I’m sorry if you’re mad–”’

“No. Why him?” Shoko interrupts. She takes another drag before blowing the smoke off to the side. You frown. 

“You promised you’d stop smoking,” you say, and Shoko laughs. 

“Is it your parents?” she asks, stepping closer. Smoke fills your lungs as she blows some onto your face. You turn to the side, but she grabs your chin and makes you look at her. “Is it you? Do you like him?” She asks. You frown. 

“Yes,” you reply, though it’s half-hearted and soft. 

“Speak up,” Shoko says, but you don’t. Your brows are furrowed, and there’s a little pout on your lips. Your hands come to tug on her shirt as if you’re beckoning her to come closer, but she doesn’t, not even bothering to look down at where you’re holding onto her. 

She feels an awful desire to kiss you, to show you what liking—no, loving—someone really is. She doesn’t fight it when she leans in, pressing your lips together. This kiss is much different from any kiss you’ve shared before. It’s meaner, more desperate. As if Shoko is trying to put every word she won’t speak into this moment, lips moving against lips. Your fingers move from her shirt up to her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. 

Shoko tastes like smoke and the beer she took three sips off when you first arrived. It’s deprived; how good it all feels to let go. Then you part and you gasp for air for a few seconds before you step back, wiping your hands in your shirt and turning around, disappearing into the bar. 

You’re fifteen when you say the words that make Shoko take the first drag of a cigarette. You’re sitting on the floor in your room, watching some show that you begged her to see. Shoko can’t even remember which one it was, although it doesn’t matter all that much. You’re huddled close together, giggling whenever the main characters do something funny. Your eyes are on the screen, but Shoko can’t help but look at you. 

It’s dark out. She should’ve been home hours ago, but your parents aren’t home—they never are—and the maid left hours ago. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Sho?” you ask. Shoko blinks, turning to look at the TV again. A kiss scene is unfolding. Fairly innocent, she thinks. She looks back at you to find you already looking. Your faces are awfully close, only illuminated by the blue light from the show still going, though it’s all background noise at this point. 

“No,” Shoko replies bluntly. You smile, your cheeks heating up as you lean in closer. 

“Do you want to?” you ask. It’s innocent. You’re smiling, your eyes darting down to Shoko’s lips for a second before they’re back up. 

“I don’t know,” Shoko replies. Already at fourteen, she hates how she feels around you. There’s something disarming about you that makes Shoko lose all her cool and turn into a complete puddle of weird, awkward teenage mess. Her heart always seems to hammer in her chest, and her hands feel clammy. 

“We could try, you know,” you say. You’re so close now that Shoko can feel your breath on her lips, smell the fruit rolls you ate earlier. It’s so very you, so sweet. Blood roars in her ears, and she doesn’t say anything, afraid her voice might betray her. 

“For practice,” you add, and Shoko finds herself nodding along. For practice, sure. She ignores the gnawing feeling in her chest, the looming knowledge that she can never come back from this. Shoko has never been much interested in love or boys. She’s always opted for medical books and crime mysteries instead of chick flicks. Though with you, it’s always been different. You could rope her into watching The Notebook and Titanic as many times as you wanted if it meant Shoko got to spend time with you. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, placing your hand on Shoko’s cheek, and she nods again. “Yeah,” she replies, almost breathless. You’re so close now.

So so close. 

It’s innocent. There’s no tongue, no great big sparks. Yet Shoko feels electric. Your lips are soft. So soft. And despite how blunt you were just seconds ago, you feel shy now all of a sudden, pulling away with flushed cheeks and a sort of dazed look on your face. 

“Thank you,” is all you can think to say, and it makes Shoko snort at your reaction. This causes a giggle to be pulled from you as well, and you sit there for a while, just lingering in each other's presence, high on the experience of your first kiss together. It’s innocent, sweet. Shoko wishes she could bottle up the feelings you give her and save them from the rot she’s already feeling building up inside of her. 

She reaches for your cheek and pulls you in for a second kiss. You let her, getting braver this time. Your lips move against each other. It’s inexperienced and clumsy, but Shoko wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Then you whisper the god-forsaken words. 

“I wish you were a boy, Sho.” 

And Shoko feels the rot fester in her gut. 

“I should go,” she replies, stumbling out of your room and down the hall of your obscenely large house. She ignores your calls for her as she slips down through your kitchen.

She stops in her tracks when she notices the small packet on the counter. The maid must’ve left it, she thinks to herself as she picks it up and inspects it. Shoko and you have spied on her during enough smoke breaks to know. Two cigarettes left. She glances at the door. You haven’t followed her downstairs. She puts the box in her pocket and walks out your front door. 

How can two cigarettes hurt?

You’re twenty-three when you walk down the aisle in a beautiful white dress. Shoko watches from the fourth row, right next to Nanami. You and Satoru stand in front of the altar. Suguru sits on the front row with Satoru’s family. You hadn’t asked Shoko to sit with yours. 

The vows are formal. Clinical, almost. As though someone else wrote them for you, as though neither you nor Satoru actually feel the things you say. Nonetheless, you look blinding in your dress, even more blinding as you walk down the aisle and lock eyes with Shoko. 

She smiles at you. Purple rings have become more prominent under her eyes during the past few months. She’s told you they’re from late-night cramming and studying, and while that’s not technically untrue, there's another reason why she sleeps so badly as well. You smile back, and Shoko feels the green little thorn in her stomach reach just a little deeper. 

“Why are you looking all gloomy?” 

It’s playful. There’s no ill intent behind it. Satoru, as always, pretends to be unaware of anything that might start an uncomfortable conversation, instead resorting to acting like a fool. Shoko sighs. 

“Fuck off,” she says, though there’s no edge in her tone. She can’t ever really hate Satoru. No one can. That’s what's so annoying about him. Satoru walks forward and joins Shoko on the balcony from the venue of your wedding afterparty. Shoko doesn’t know where you are. Probably somewhere entertaining your guests, pretending that this is the happiest night of your life. 

Satoru eyes the cigarette between Shoko’s fingers as she takes another drag. 

“I thought you were quitting.”

“School’s been stressful.” 

“Ah,” Satoru nods, resting his arms on the railing and looking out over the city. It’s a peaceful night. The sky is clear, though you can’t see the stars due to the light of the city. Shoko exhales. 

“Are you doing alright, Shoko? You seem distant,” Satoru asks, eyes trained on the view in front of them. Shoko hums. 

“I’m alright,” 

They stand like that for a while, neither of them saying anything. Shoko wonders if she should just tell Satoru everything. About how she’s in love with his wife and has been for years. How she wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping for air and chasing dreams of you. You with your soft lips and pretty smile. You who never flinches away, you who remains the centre of Shoko’s world no matter how hard she tries to untangle herself from your web of love and praise.

She imagines it wouldn’t go down well. Even if Satoru has married you out of duty, she knows he still loves you. Maybe not as a wife, but as a companion. You’ve known each other for so long, known that you were promised to each other since you were mere children. 

“Ah, fuck, I better go save my wife.” 

The moment has passed. Shoko looks back towards the glass doors to the party. You’re stuck talking to some elders. Shoko doesn’t know who they are, but she assumes they’re from Gojo’s family. You glance towards the balcony. “Save me,” you mouth, and both Shoko and Satoru snort. 

“Duty calls,” he sings as he walks past Shoko. He looks back over his shoulder once. “Come back once you’ve finished that one, okay?”

You’re eighteen when you all huddle together on the floor in Suguru’s room, giggling and whispering about the joint that the boys somehow managed to secure. Suguru lights it and takes the first inhale. Satoru follows, cheeks immediately turning pink and a dopey smile settling on his lips as he passes it to Shoko. You watch Shoko curiously before she hands it to you. 

Carefully, you fold it between your two fingers, eyeing the little roll carefully. “How do I do it?” you ask, and Shoko snorts. Satoru is giggly already, lying down and putting his head in Suguru’s lap. Suguru looks mostly unaffected, yet he cracks a smile and pinches Satoru’s cheek. 

“You put it between your lips, and then you inhale. You gotta feel it all the way in your lungs,” Shoko explains. You try to do as she says, but when you exhale, barely any smoke comes out. Suguru chuckles. 

"Yeah, that was not an inhale,” he says, and you poke your tongue at him. Shoko moves closer to you, ignoring Suguru as she puts her hand on your thigh. 

“Try again,” she says, and you do, looking at her at the same time. Shoko smiles, and you choke, coughing out some as you feel tears prickling in your eyes. Shoko rubs a soothing hand along your thigh while Satoru laughs. You pat your chest, coughing furiously as tears run down your cheek and Shoko smiles at you. 

So cute. 

“C’mere,” she says, once your coughing has subsided. You pout at her, but move closer nevertheless, till you’re in her lap. The boys are quiet now, watching your exchange as Shoko puts a hand on your waist, taking the joint from your fingers with the other. 

“You ready?” she asks, and you nod wordlessly. Slowly, she inhales before leaning into you, blowing into your mouth. This time you inhale, puffing your chest out in a manner that makes Shoko grin. You exhale again, and Shoko pats your cheek rewardingly. 

“Good girl,” she mutters, and your jaw drops. Suguru coughs, and you can hear Satoru’s giggle increasing as you climb out of her lap and grab the joint again. Shoko smiles at you. The knowing kind that makes you want to bash your head into a wall. You ignore the heat in your cheeks as you peel your eyes away from her. 

“Okay, I can do it myself now, thank you,” you say, taking a big inhale. You hold it for a few seconds before exhaling again, white smoke leaving your lungs. 

“There you go,” Satoru says, flashing you his perfect white teeth. You frown and take another drag, for good measure, before Suguru takes the joint from you. 

“Woah, there,” he says, raising a brow at you. “This is your first time, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, already feeling lightheaded. “So what?” 

“Might want to take it easy,” he says. You don't bother to reply, instead looking back at Shoko. She’s leaned back, resting on her elbows. She meets your gaze, tilting her head to the side. Taking you in. Examining you. You fiddle with your fingers in your lap, but you don’t break eye contact.

Then she nods at you. A tiny one, barely noticeable. You almost think you imagine it, if it isn’t for the teasing look in her eyes. 

An invitation. 

You don’t hesitate to take it, climbing over and promptly laying your head in her lap. Shoko laughs, but she lets you, adjusting herself so she can sit up and play with your hair. You hum, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around her. You feel light, pleasant. 

“Someone’s feeling touchy,” Shoko says, smiling as she watches your brows knit together. She brings a finger down, running it over the crease formed between your eyebrows, forcing you to relax. 

“You’re my best friend, Sho.” Your voice is airy. “I’m allowed to feel touchy.”

You’re twenty when you kiss Shoko for the second time before slipping inside the crowded bar again. Shoko waits a few minutes before she follows you back in. She can still feel your pillowy lips and taste the gloss you wear. She feels dizzy, almost, under the neon lights, but she’s unsure if it’s the alcohol and nicotine or just you. 

Her eyes land on the table where she saw Satoru and Suguru earlier. The white blob of hair is easy to spot; it always is. Even when you’re running your fingers through them. 

Ah. 

Even when you run your fingers through Satoru’s hair while you kiss him stupid. His hands are on your hips, pulling you in. She can’t see your face, only your back. In a way, she’s glad. It makes the whole ordeal much easier. 

“There you are.” 

Suguru moves towards her, smiling casually when she turns to look at him. 

“I assume she’s told you?” he muses, nodding his head towards the two of you. Suguru’s hands are in his pockets, and his hair is tied back. Shoko shrugs. 

“Yeah,” Shoko says. She looks at you again before turning back to Suguru. “How long have you known?” she asks, and Suguru scratches his neck and hums. 

“About a month,” he says. Shoko shifts from one foot to another and nods. A month. A month and you didn’t tell her. She scoffs. Suguru raises a brow. 

“Are you upset?”

“No,”

“Alright,” there’s a teasing edge to Suguru’s tone that tells her he doesn’t quite believe her. Shoko’s brows narrow, and she feels her fingers itching for another cigarette. 

She gives you a last glance before pulling Suguru out with her for another cigarette. If you wanna kiss boys in bars, then so be it. 

You’re twenty-six when Shoko opens her door in the middle of the night and finds you on her doorstep, completely drenched from the rain. 

“I’m afraid there’s something rotten inside of me,” you say, and if your eyes weren’t brimming with tears, Shoko might have blamed your wet cheeks on the rain and tried to shrug it off, but it feels impossible with the way you stand there with red rims around your eyes. “I’m afraid that there’s something wrong with me, and it’s only a matter of time before you all figure it out,” you repeat, almost gasping for air as if each word brings you physical pain to speak. 

And Shoko steps aside, because what else can she do. How could she turn you away when you’re all she’s ever wanted, all she’s ever loved. Yet none of you make another move to do anything else as Shoko stands with the closed door behind her and you stand in the middle of her living room, your soaked clothes dripping in a puddle underneath you. 

“What’s going on?” Shoko asks. Your lips are downturned and your brows are furrowed, and you look so miserable that it makes Shoko’s stomach churn. 

“I don’t love him.” 

A beat. 

Shoko stares. Your eyes are trained on the puddle beneath you. 

“You were right. It doesn’t feel right when I’m with him. He’s my best friend, but—”

“Why are you here?” Shoko interrupts. She rubs the bridge of her nose, taking in a deep breath. 

“Sho-” you stumble across the room, but Shoko places a hand up and you stop in your tracks. 

“Stay there,” she says, and you frown. 

“I’m sorry, okay. I should’ve listened to you,” you say, knowing that it won’t help anything but saying it anyway.

Shoko always thought she would feel satisfaction in this moment. Some sense of superiority. To be able to say “I told you so” with a smile dancing on her lips. That all of it—all of the rot and pain—would be worth it once you realised you were wrong. Instead, she just feels bitter. 

“Yeah. You should have.” 

She realises she’s wasted so much time. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting. And for what? Shoko sighs. 

“You should leave.”

thank you for reading!

i'm satoru when i get high btw. very giggly, very happy, very in love with all of my friends.

tagging @madaqueue since you asked, my munchkin. <3

masterlist | divider by enchanthings

[urhoneycombwitch]

#17 from that prompt list about seeing the marks left on their partner and getting turned on has got me all kinds of 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 It feels roommate-eddie coded 👀 especially if they have their no-marks rule, but he just kinda loses control one night.

Then we torture him, walking around showing it off, telling him he can’t touch until he learns some self-control…okay, I’m gonna see myself out…

(most assuredly not @rebelfell sending two asks in a row)

foreword: Sarah I’m being so fr how are you literally in my brain… I had a blurb on this very topic set on the back burner bc I couldn’t find a place for it so here it is spruced up!!! (prompt 17 from this list)

cw: Reader has breasts, visible marks, no skin tone/color mentioned, a wee bit of choking kink, not full smut but mdni as always. oh yeah and biting 😈

___

You can feel the weight of Eddie’s eyes on your form, even as you pretend to be oblivious, leaning into the reflection of the standing mirror in the corner of his bedroom.

A few swipes of your pointer finger and your lipgloss is perfect; with a smack of your lips, you straighten up again, tugging the hem of your tee down to meet the band of your jeans. “Almost ready?”

The friendly smile you turn to give Eddie is met with a glower, his dark brows slanted, a death-grip on both knees where he sits simmering on his bed.

“Did you come in here solely to torture me, or do you have other plans up your vixen sleeves?”

Briefly, your eyes flick to the ceiling as you turn back to your reflection, fussing with your hair to keep your hands busy. “Only plan I got is attending our beloved friend’s barbecue. Which we should’ve left for, like, five minutes ago.”

Eddie huffs. In response, you sigh, landing just-left of condescending. “Not my fault you want to fuck me regardless of what I’m wearing. It’s jeans and a t-shirt, Eddie, I’m basically fit for a nunnery-”

There’s a whoosh of spiced air that wafts over first, chills cascading down your spine made worse as Eddie moves in. His left hand lands on your hip, rooting you to the carpet, while the other tracks up, skirting between the valley of your clothed breasts, your collarbone, your neck…

He takes your chin between thumb and forefinger, silver rings biting cold against your skin as your neck goes lax, baring a long, tantalizing stretch of it as Eddie tilts your face up and to the side.

His lips press to the sweet spot behind your ear, then follows the slope of your neck down, stopping at your shirt’s collar that hides the rest of your skin. From your hip, his hand lifts to pull the fabric aside, revealing a scattered canvas of suck marks and teeth imprints that grace the top of your shoulder.

“You really gonna show up with these? Make all our friends wonder who’s been marking you up?”

Eddie’s voice is low, but you’d be a fool to mistake it for softness.

Another shiver licks along the length of your body, and this time Eddie feels it; he presses in closer, hand sliding from your chin to hold just under your jaw as he meets your fluttering eyes in the mirror.

“What’re you gonna say, hm? If Robin asks where they came from? If Steve makes a jock-y comment? If you get teased?”

It’s not like you haven’t been in this situation before- attending events with mutual friends, having to act like your roommate hasn’t been the one checking all your boxes, making up excuses for being late or looking like someone had been using your body as their personal chew toy.

You’ve always made excuses- pretty seamless ones, if anyone’s counting. You don’t even try to squirm away when you respond, swallowing around the light pressure at your throat- “I’ll tell them what I always do. Blind date hookup, one night stand, my dentist’s cousin’s friend that I’ll never see again-”

Eddie bites into the soft flesh of your upper shoulder, hard, free arm wrapping around your midsection like a seatbelt while his other elbow digs into your chest, hand still wrapped around the column of your throat.

The air leaves your lungs in a rush, white-hot adrenaline surging with the sting of the bite, body stiffening against the restraints of Eddie’s arms as you grit out, “Asshole!”

It sounds too whiny and pleasure-soaked to cause any real alarm, Eddie grinning into the curve of your skin (bastard) before tsking, kissing over the thumping mark in partial apology. “Mm. I think you like it. I think you get off on parading our little secret around the poor folks who don’t know any better-”

“As if you don’t.” Eddie may be the one doing most of the biting but you’ve got the bark to match, glaring furiously at the reflection of his maddeningly-cool black-caramel gaze, even as the pressure on your windpipe increases with a minute flex of his palm.

“Yeah. Y’got me there, princess.” His eyes flit across your exposed skin, like he’s trying to memorize all the shades and colors of you combined with the wreckage of his handiwork. “Maybe you should cover up some more. So it’s just you ‘n me who knows what’s under here.”

The cotton collar snaps back into place, covering almost all the evidence (save for the tail end of a day-old scraped hickey). Eddie releases your jaw and takes a step back, the warmth leaving your body all at once, frozen where you stand until sense returns.

You clear your throat before speaking, irritation prickling as you set to fixing your hair again from where Eddie’s interruption had stalled. “Whatever. Fine. But I’m only changing because it’s gonna be cold later, and a long sleeve will be better- not because you told me to.”

“Fine.” Eddie adopts a neutral tone as he settles back onto the mattress with a bounce, tugging absently at the inseam of his dark jeans to relieve some of the mounting tightness. “Have it your way.”

“I will,” you snap back, turning from the mirror on a socked heel, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy on the bed. “And you better have your boots on by the time I’m changed.”

With that, you flounce from Eddie’s room in search of a more conservative neckline, while Eddie pouts and pretends to have the will to disobey you for all of five seconds.

And then he’s up, trudging to the bureau reluctantly to source a pair of socks while scheming for the perfect excuse to take you both on the extra-long route to the barbecue.

[hucowboyification]

Poolverine and 10 please?

10- "We're really going to fuck here? What if someone sees us?"

It'd been an easy job. Get in, stab, claw, and shoot all the fuckers in the warehouse to death, get out. No one was left alive; not even the cleaning crew.

Making a quick getaway wasnt strictly necessary; given how blood-soaked they both were, it probably would've made them more suspicious. But the surrounding area had been terrorized by that group for so long that everyone turned a blind eye to the two mutants booking it down shaded alleyways, and the adrenaline made for great foreplay, so they ran anyways.

Logan pulled Wade down an alleyway, around a corner, and then into a dead end, where a brick building towered over everything.

Deep scratch marks in sets of threes littered the face of the building; hundreds, if not thousands of sets, some clearly much older than the several months Logan had been living in this universe.

"Climb," Logan instructed, lacking anything in the way of real urgency. It was made even less urgent by Logan tugging Wade's mask off and pressing him briefly to the brick wall for a deep, but surprisingly gentle kiss.

Once he was released, Wade did as he was asked. Fortunately, Logan had the forethought to make sure that people with normal hands could get to the roof, though just barely; it was a tough climb, even for Wade, and he had to question if it was really the only way up onto the roof, or if Logan just wanted to watch his ass as he made his way up tedious hand-and-foot-holds.

"Used to love coming up here," Logan sighed once they'd both reached the roof, leaning shoulder-to-shoulder against a boarded-up maintenance entrance. "Quiet. Good views. Hard to climb for most people. Back... back where I'm from, it got torn down years ago."

Wade, using the little good sense he had, didn't pry or crack a joke. He didn't particularly feel like regenerating any limbs tonight, thank you very much.

"But, anyways," Logan continued, giving Wade a sharp-toothed grin. "Thought it'd be a good place to bring you to catch our breath after a job. Be nice to spend an evening together without worrying about waking anyone up."

"Wait, do you mean-" he leaned in close, exaggeratedly whisper-shouting in Logan's ear- "S-E-X?"

"Yes, you goddamn loser, I mean fucking." Logan snorted, bumping his forehead against Wade's shoulder. "Up here, alone, under the stars."

"Aww, Wolvie, that's so romantic! We're really going to fuck here?" Wade gasped in mock surprise, bringing his hands to his face. "What if someone sees us?"

The twitching of Logan's lips gave away his attempts so suppress a laugh. "Who the fuck would see us, moron? It's the middle of the night, this is an abandoned building, and we'd see if anyone came on a nearby roof." Then he grinned. "Besides, what do you care? I always thought you'd be an exhibitionist."

"Oh, I am an exhibitionist, peanut, but you never know. There are cameras everywhere these days.

With a brief, disparaging "Jesus Christ, Wade", Logan dropped to his knees, nuzzling gently at Wade's already hard cock under his suit.

Then, the claws came out, moving towards the fabric of Wade's pants, and-

"Hey, no, no, no! Soft paws!" Wade shouted, swatting Logan's hands away and getting his fingers quite scratched up in the process. "I'm not sewing this up again! God, the knife hands are hot, but can you use your fingers to unzip me like a normal fucking person for once?"

Reluctantly, Logan did as ordered, sheathing his claws and unzipping his pants without ripping them (and Wade's skin, though that was of less concern) to shreds.

If there were cameras around (and of course there were- whatever the dicks at the TVA said, he's the main character here), they'd be getting quite a show.

Send me an ask with a number and a ship!

[letsgetbigger]

OnlyFat

Nigel looked at himself in the mirror, as he did every morning, admiring his toned and sculpted body, the result of years of dieting and hard work at the gym. At 28 years old, he felt at the peak of his physical form. Firm muscles, broad shoulders, and a defined abdomen, along with his handsome face and sizable cock, had earned him a considerable number of followers on OnlyFans. While he wasn’t a millionaire, earning an average of about two thousand dollars a month allowed him certain luxuries and a pretty comfortable lifestyle. He enjoyed his routine. He filmed private videos, always eager to please, and responded to the strangest and most specific requests from his fans. No matter what they asked of him, he always found a way to enjoy it; perhaps due to his naturally submissive nature, something he had discovered long ago and now used to his advantage.

That Tuesday, as he checked the messages in his account, he came across a proposal that made him pause. It was from someone named Dom43, who had written to him several times before, though never with such a direct request. The message read:

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you gain ten pounds of fat in a month and send me a video of the results. No tricks. I want to see how you change. What do you say?”

Nigel raised an eyebrow and reread the offer over and over. It wasn’t the typical request he was used to. At first, it seemed strange, almost absurd. But the money—a thousand dollars!—was a considerable temptation. Plus, a part of him, the part that had always enjoyed obeying and submitting to others’ desires, felt a twinge of excitement at the idea. After a few minutes of thought, he shrugged and let himself go with his gut.

“I accept,” he wrote back.

He knew doing this would change something, though he wasn’t sure what. What he didn’t expect was just how much this would lead him down an unexpected path.

For Nigel, gaining ten pounds in a month didn’t seem like much of a challenge. And he knew that once he hit the goal and pocketed that thousand dollars, he could go back to his strict diet and regain his physique in a matter of weeks. It was just a simple detour, a small, temporary indulgence. Nothing serious. With that assurance, he decided to change his eating habits.

That same afternoon, he went to the grocery store, filling his cart with everything he normally avoided: frozen pizzas, pastries, salty snacks, and especially lots of tubs of ice cream, which he promised himself to devour every night. Salads were out of the picture for a few weeks. When he got home, the idea of indulging in unrestrained pleasure, of breaking the rules he had imposed on himself for years, turned him on. Even more so when he remembered he was doing it for Dom43, to fulfill his request.

That night, he sat on the couch in front of the TV, a pizza on one side and a tub of ice cream on the other, a smile on his face. At first, he ate because he was hungry, but soon that hunger turned into something darker, more intimate. He kept eating, even though he was no longer hungry. The mere thought of knowing he was stuffing himself, filling up to please someone, gave him a thrill he had never experienced before. When he finished, he lay back on the couch, gently stroking his slightly bloated stomach, feeling strangely satisfied.

***

Two weeks had passed, and Nigel had fully embraced his new routine of excess. He was eating as if it were a competition. The food filled him, but what really satisfied him was the idea of transforming his body at someone else’s request. He knew he was changing, that his body was reacting. And it was confirmed when he weighed himself: eight pounds gained. He was close to reaching his goal.

The next day, while working out, his personal trainer, Mark, noticed something different. Nigel was in the middle of doing crunches when Mark let out a mocking laugh.

“You’ve been slacking a bit, man,” he said, giving Nigel’s stomach a light tap. “You’ve put on some weight. And not just around the belly…” Mark added, motioning toward his backside.

Nigel laughed, trying to hide the heat rushing to his face. “Yeah, well, I’ve been indulging a little—nothing serious.”

Mark shook his head, but the comment stuck with Nigel. That teasing remark hit deep. It didn’t bother him, though. On the contrary, he liked it. For the rest of the workout, he couldn’t stop thinking about how his body was changing, about how much Dom43 would enjoy watching him soften up.

When he got home, he quickly stripped off his clothes and looked in the mirror. He touched his stomach, which was no longer as flat as it once was, and caressed the soft roundness beginning to form on his rear. Mark’s words echoed in his mind, and at that moment, Nigel couldn’t resist any longer. He collapsed onto his bed and jerked off, reaching the most intense climax of his life. What had started as a simple game to make some money had now completely consumed him.

The month had come to an end, and Nigel was ready. He carefully set up the camera, making sure the lighting was perfect, bright enough to highlight every change in his body, to show Dom43 the results of his effort. He stood in front of the mirror, took a deep breath, and began undressing slowly, recording the whole process. First, he removed his shirt, revealing his torso. His chest, once firm and defined, now had a slight sag to it. His belly, swollen and covered by a soft layer of fat, folded into rolls when he bent slightly. Then he pulled down his pants, leaving him in his tight white briefs, which now clung to him like never before. His thighs were noticeably thicker. But the real surprise came when he turned around. His ass, bigger and rounder, seemed to want to burst out of the tight fabric. The briefs could barely contain it. He gently touched his ass, feeling its fullness. Without missing a beat, he moved to the scale he had placed in front of the camera. He stepped on it carefully, watching the numbers climb rapidly. And there it was, the number that left him stunned: 191 pounds. He had gained fifteen pounds instead of the ten Dom43 had asked for. Five extra pounds, the result of his complete submission to food. Seeing the number, Nigel instantly got hard, unable to help himself.

“A hundred and ninety-one...” he muttered to himself.

Without thinking any further, he let the excitement take over. He jerked off in front of the camera, his breath ragged, and his moans filling the room. He did it for Dom43, but also for himself, for everything he had discovered about himself in the process.

Once finished, he sent the private video with a mix of anxiety and satisfaction, eagerly awaiting Dom43’s response. It didn’t take long to arrive: a payment confirmation accompanied by a comment that made Nigel shiver. “You’re a pathetic pig. You gained all this weight just because I told you to. I love it.” Nigel read aloud quietly. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars more if you gain another twenty pounds in two months. Do you dare to become my fantasy?”

Nigel sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his still-naked, slightly sweaty body after the recording. His phone’s screen glowed with Dom43’s message: ten thousand dollars to gain another twenty pounds. The offer was tempting, too tempting. With that kind of money, he wouldn’t have to make more videos for months. He could take a break from his online life and focus on something else. Just the thought of that financial freedom made him feel relieved. But there was something more—a deep desire to please Dom43, to follow his orders, to submit to whatever he asked. It consumed him inside. He had discovered a new form of pleasure. Every pound he gained, every humiliating comment, ignited something within him that he had never felt before. Pleasing Dom43 had become almost an addiction. Yet, fear lingered in the background. He had already gained fifteen pounds, and although he initially thought he could lose it easily, he was starting to doubt whether the same would be true for thirty-five pounds. What if he couldn’t? What if continuing to gain weight destroyed the success of his OnlyFans account?

***

Nigel never imagined he would lose so much control. What started as a challenge, almost a game, had become a new reality. In just a month and a half of nonstop eating, he had gained the twenty-pounds Dom43 requested, pushing his body to limits he had never thought possible. Now weighing 211 pounds, the man he saw in the mirror was almost unrecognizable. His belly hung over the waistband, his thighs rubbed together with every step, and his once firm chest now bounced lightly with each movement. But the most shocking transformation of all was his ass, now enormous, two soft masses that jiggled with every step. And for some reason, that excited him more than it scared him.

When he arrived at the gym one afternoon, Mark greeted him with his usual mocking grin.

"Well, look who's here: my star client," Mark said sarcastically, his eyes scanning Nigel’s new body.

Throughout the workout, Mark made constant comments about his weight. Every time Nigel did a squat or lifted weights, he could feel Mark’s eyes on him, watching how his belly wobbled or how his ass strained against his shorts, which barely contained it anymore. But the most intense moment came after the workout when Nigel stepped out of the showers. As he was drying off, he noticed Mark watching him from across the locker room.

"Jesus, man..." Mark said, his eyes trailing over Nigel’s naked body. "You're huge. Like, seriously."

Before Nigel could respond, Mark stepped closer and gave him a smack on the ass. The sound echoed in the room, and Nigel’s butt cheeks rippled under Mark’s firm hand like jello. Nigel felt his face heat up, a mix of shame and arousal spreading over his skin.

"Damn," Mark laughed, "that moves like jello. What have you been eating, ice cream by the gallon? You’re getting obese, dude."

Nigel couldn’t answer, his throat dry, his mind stuck on the echo of Mark’s words. Obese. It was the first time anyone had called him that, and instead of being offended, the word hit him like a lightning bolt of pure desire. He tried to laugh, but the sound came out weak, almost choked.

He stood in front of the camera, taking deep breaths as he prepared for his second private session with Dom43. Like before, he undressed slowly, savoring each moment. He pulled off his shirt, revealing a torso that no longer had any trace of the firm muscles he once prided himself on. His chest was soft and round, visibly moving with each breath. His nipples had widened and felt unusually sensitive as he brushed his fingers over them. Then he slid off his pants, left in the same white briefs from the previous video. This time, they felt like a cruel joke. The edges dug into his hips and thighs, squeezing him in a way that was both uncomfortable and intensely arousing. His swollen belly hung slightly over the waistband, which seemed ready to give up the fight. Nigel turned to face the camera, letting it capture the most obvious change of all: his ass. It completely filled the briefs, making them look absurdly small. The fabric was stretched to its limit, with the tops of his cheeks spilling over, exposing the crack as if the briefs couldn’t possibly contain so much mass. He gave a slight shake, and his ass jiggled, continuing to bounce for a few seconds before settling. Seeing himself like that—so exposed, so impossibly large—sent a wave of arousal through him that nearly made him lose control right then and there. Nigel couldn’t help but smile. He knew Dom43 would love seeing what he had accomplished. The high point of the video came when he stepped onto the scale, carefully positioned in front of the camera. He showed the result: 211 pounds. Thirty-five pounds more than he weighed when this all began. He couldn’t help himself; the thrill of having transformed for someone else, of having fully surrendered to it, overwhelmed him. Once again, he masturbated in front of the camera, but this time, the orgasm was more intense, more liberating. His breath grew ragged, and every curve of his body shook with the force of his release.

When it was over, he sent the video to Dom43. The payment came through quickly, but what made Nigel’s heart race wasn’t the large sum of money. It was the words that followed.

“You’ve become my obedient pig. You’re good for nothing but getting fatter. You should be ashamed of how far you’ve fallen, but the worst part is, I know you love it.”

Nigel swallowed hard, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. It was true. He loved every humiliating word, every cruel comment that made him feel smaller, more submissive, despite his growing size. But it was the last line of the message that left him frozen.

“I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars if you gain another thirty pounds.”

***

Nigel was nervous. It had been over two months since he last filmed a video for his regular OnlyFans subscribers, and now, with his body drastically transformed, he had no idea how they would react. He wanted to see if the weight gain had changed anything, if his fans were still interested in him despite the fact that he no longer had the muscular, chiseled physique that had attracted them in the first place. Deep down, he hoped it wouldn’t matter too much, that they would still desire him, and that he wouldn’t have to rely on Dom43 to stay financially stable. He set up the camera like always, but this time, he took a longer look at himself in the mirror. It was incredible how much his body had changed in just two months. His body felt heavy. Every movement made him more aware of his size.

"It's just a video," he whispered to himself, trying to calm his nerves. "I just want to see how they react."

He stood in front of the camera, shirtless, revealing his round, soft torso, wearing only a pair of black briefs that used to be loose on him. He did the usual gestures he used in his videos, showing his body from different angles, touching his chest and stomach, running his hands over the areas now covered in fat.

He uploaded the video.

The first responses came in quickly. As soon as he read the comments, his fears were confirmed. There was no acceptance, no admiration. Just criticism, mockery, and, above all, shock.

“What happened to you? You used to look incredible, but now you look like a different person,” wrote one of his longtime followers.

“You’re huge! And not in a good way. What kind of joke is this?” added another.

The comments kept coming, each one harsher than the last. They called him fat and disgusting. Some even felt betrayed by the change, as if Nigel had deliberately hidden what he’d been doing over the past few months. Others openly laughed at him, making fun of how his body had lost all definition. Nigel read every word, feeling a mix of humiliation and indescribable excitement. He had expected a negative reaction, but the brutal honesty of their attacks surpassed all his expectations. Far from feeling defeated, something dark and deep inside him awakened. Each insult, each criticism, made him feel more alive, more aware of his body and what he had achieved. The taunts about his physique didn’t discourage him; they aroused him in a way he couldn’t ignore. It was as if those words freed him. He didn’t want to go back. He wanted to push forward. He turned off his computer screen and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Dom43 had offered him twenty thousand dollars to gain another thirty pounds. Thirty pounds that would transform him even more, taking him to a new level of submission. He had thought about rejecting the offer, about going back to his former physique. But after reading his fans’ comments, after feeling the impact of their words on his body, there was no longer any doubt. With a smile on his face, Nigel decided he was going to accept the challenge. He was ready to fully give in, to see just how far he could go.

***

Nigel stopped going to the gym altogether. Every morning, he woke up to the same routine: eat, jerk off, and eat more. His appetite seemed endless, and his libido was out of control, higher than ever. The discipline he once had had crumbled, replaced by an obsession with giving in to food and the thrill of his own transformation. His clothes no longer fit. The jeans, tight shirts, and briefs that had once defined his muscular figure now wouldn't even make it past his thighs or tore when he tried putting them on. Soon, he realized the only piece of clothing that still fit him was an old tracksuit, and even that didn’t fit well—it was so tight that the fabric stretched ridiculously, and his belly stuck out. He only wore it when he went out to buy more food, but at home, he spent his days completely naked.

In three months, Nigel had gained another thirty-five pounds, surpassing even Dom43’s challenge. His body was unrecognizable, and the scale didn’t lie. He weighed 246 pounds, a number he’d never imagined reaching. His thighs were so thick they had changed the way he walked. His belly was soft, round, and hung over. His arms, once firm, were now wrapped in fat. And his chest, completely soft, jiggled with even the slightest movement. He knew it was time to film the video for Dom43. He prepared in the simplest and most provocative way possible: completely naked, with a box of donuts by his side and the scale ready to show the result. The camera started rolling, and Nigel let himself get caught up in the moment. He grabbed one of the donuts and bit into it slowly, letting the sugar slide down his lips as he chewed exaggeratedly. He knew Dom43 would love to see him like this, enjoying the food that had turned him into what he was now.

“I’ve surpassed your challenge,” Nigel said, his voice thick with pleasure as he bit into another donut. “Another thirty-five pounds. I hope you’re happy.”

He stood up with difficulty, his ass visibly bouncing as he walked toward the scale. He stepped onto it with some effort, and it stopped at 246 pounds. Nigel showed the number to the camera with a satisfied grin on his face.

“246 pounds,” he said with pride in his voice. “But that’s not all.”

He grabbed a measuring tape and started measuring his body. First, he wrapped it around his waist.

“Fifty inches,” he announced, staring at his belly.

Then he measured his ass, which had turned into a massive ball of fat, and the number was just as shocking.

“Fifty-three inches. I can’t even fit in my office chair.”

Nigel paused for a moment, looking at the camera with a euphoric expression.

“All of this... is for you, Dom43. I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

He ended the video with one last bite, chewing slowly as he jiggled his whole body while masturbating. When he finished, he turned off the camera and collapsed onto the couch, panting from exhaustion. He sent the video to Dom43 and waited, knowing the response wouldn’t take long. When it came, it was exactly what he expected.

“You’ve exceeded my expectations, pig. I never imagined you’d reach this point, that you’d become such a mountain of fat for me. Look at yourself, you’re pathetic, completely out of control. And you know what? I love it. You’ve done everything I asked and more. You’re the perfect submissive fat boy. You’re good for nothing but eating, getting fatter, and letting others laugh at you. But I must also say, I’m proud of you. You’ve proven you’re completely mine, willing to transform yourself this way just to please me. You’re incredible, in the worst way possible, of course, but that’s exactly where your greatness lies.”

Nigel stared at the screen, absorbed in the words. He had done everything Dom43 had wanted. And yet, he felt he could go further. The idea of gaining even more weight, of leaving behind any trace of his former self, called to him with unstoppable force. Without thinking too much, he typed the question that had been on his mind for days, a question that made him tremble with anticipation:

“How much will you pay me if I reach 300 pounds?”

The silence that followed for a few seconds was deafening, but Dom43’s response came quickly.

“I’m not paying you anything. This time, you won’t do it for the money. I want you to do it for me, because you can’t stop yourself now. I want you to gain until you reach 300 pounds just to please me, because now you know that’s the only thing that turns you on. You’ll do it because you belong to me.”

Nigel took a deep breath, feeling each word of that message wrap around him, filling him with a mix of submission and absolute pleasure. He knew Dom43 was right. It was no longer about the money. It was about something much bigger. What had started as a simple desire to fulfill a fantasy had become his reality. With trembling fingers, he typed the only thing he knew he could say at that moment, the only thing his mind and cock screamed for with overwhelming clarity:

“I’ll do it.”

[pipiririo]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

IV. Omg he’s hot

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𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Summary: you finally meet the nerd (it has only been three hours since you heard about him) WRITTEN PORTION AFTER THE TEXTS!

✩ ♬ ₊.written⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[word count: 1717]

“Where do you want the guests at, y/n?” A club member lightly knocked on the door to one of the study rooms in the library—aka your office—to ask you a question. You look up from the laptop in front of you and a small smile.

“Pull up some chairs from the other desks and place them around the back area. That way, the official members will still be seated at the front, but they’ll still be able to participate in discussions.” You thoroughly explained with little hand gestures.

The guy nodded and gave a thumbs up before jogging away to let everyone know of your idea, to which they agreed. A few minutes after the guy had asked about the searing arrangements, you heard another knock on the door, letting out a loud “come in!” while you kept your head glued to the screen in front of you as you typed away an email regarding an event.

Even when the door had opened and you recognized the soft scent of cologne mixed with the smell of a new yet sweet cologne, your eyes remained stuck on the screen, since the email was just that important.

“What do you need, Sho?” You asked as you tapped your finger to your lip, eyebrows scrunched as you thought of how to arrange the next event with the new small sponsor.

“It’s a phone call. The sponsor you asked me to reach out to wants to talk to you.” Shoto’s hand came into view as he offered his phone to you. You raised your finger to signal for him to give you one second as you finished up the last sentence of your email. Beneath your breath, you muttered the final words and semi-loudly pressed enter on the email. You quickly looked up after letting out a loud sigh and dropping your shoulders.

When you grabbed the phone and brought it up to your ear to listen, you were only then able to see Shoto in all his glory as well as another man beside him.

Your lips parted in awe momentarily, eyes slightly widening. The guy standing beside Shoto was looking around the mini office in awe of his surroundings. His hands were in his pockets, the white shirt he wore nicely complimented his build—and he definitely looked like he worked out a lot beneath that shirt. It seemed as though your senses had been cut out until you heard a loud “hello?” coming from the phone. You blinked your eyes quickly and responded to the person on the other end of the phone.

‘Holy fuck he’s hot.’

“Yes, this is y/n, the president of the writing club at U.A university as well as the events organizer for the Creative Writing Honors Society in Shizuoka prefecture. Shoto informed me that you wanted to speak about the sponsorship request we sent?” You asked as your eyes settled to look down at the books on your desk in order to focus on the phone call.

“Yes, I’m sure Shoto went over the fine details with you? Perfect, his summation is the gist of what we do in our club and in the society, as we aspire to create a community in which people of all skill levels, specifically those who do not receive well recognition, can come together and support one another. Your organization seems to fit well with our ideals, which is why we chose you as our top choice.” You spoke in a well mannered tone, keeping a small smile on your face as you spoke, as if you were literally speaking with them face to face.

Your face lit up when the sponsor spoke again. “Of course, we’d love to! Since you will be the ones to sponsor our event, you have free rein on which dates we host them.” The makeshift office became quiet momentarily as you listened intently to the phone. “I’ll ask Shoto to send you my contact information! Thank you so much, we look forward to our future collaboration. Have a good evening!” Shortly after that totally not awkward farewell, you heard the three consistent beep beep beep to let you know that the sponsor had hung up. You let out a very long breath whilst setting the phone down with a shaky hand.

‘Oh my god wait holy— is that him?!?!?’

‘Do I look up—YEAH I KINDA HAVE TO’

After the little internal dilemma, you look up with a small grin and make eye contact with a certain green haired male.

‘I can’t do this I’m gonna explode and die.’

“Hey! I’m y/n, super duper nice to meet you! Sorry for making you wait!” You excitedly say as you stand up and slightly bow towards him.

Shoto stand at the side as he reached out for his phone. ‘Wow, they’re both awkwardly nice nerds.’

The green haired male shook his head, raised his hand to scratch the nape of his neck with a sheepish smile and a nervous laugh. “No, no, it’s fine! It’s nice to meet you, too. Like I said earlier, my name is Izuku.” He responded, but to be honest, you had other things on your mind as your eyes kept wandering around in nervousness.

‘Holy fuckholufuckholyfuckholyfuck no one told me he was ripped, I’m going insane. Is this even normal??? I didn’t know smart, hot, sweet, AND HOT PEOPLE EXISTED?!?!’

Your eyes wandered to Shoto who merely stifled a laugh at your expression.

‘Dude this isn’t funny he’s actually ripped. He—oh…his shirt lifted it’s over for me.’

“—so yeah! I was sort of hoping that you could tell me more of what you guys do here and stuff? I was looking to join a club anyways for my sophomore year, but all of the other one’s didn’t really match with my career path.”

You snapped back into focus as soon as you registered that someone needed you. Tis a thing that happens often, since you regularly help those in your club and are an absolute dork when it came to books and stuff like that.

“Duh, I got you! You can follow me and I’ll show you around! I don’t bite..!” You awkwardly added with a laugh and slowly made your way out of the door as he followed behind you with a pretty much excited smile. He really was there to gain more information.

From across the room was Jirou and Yaomomo, who had each looked towards them with widened eyes. When Shoto walked over to them as he watch the two goofballs converse and walk around the library and their little set up, he started a conversation with the two ladies.

“They’re so awkward, it’s actually painful.” Jirou added after him, making Yaomomo nod in agreement with scrunched eyebrows.

“I think they’ll do fine. Izuku is kind of dense though. Well—they both are.” Yaomomo added.

Shoto shrugged. “I think y/n’s piled up ‘steam’ will get her through it.” He plainly said, making Jirou quickly punch his shoulder as she stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, if she can even get over the awkward stage first.” Jirou added.

“Oh yeah, she can do that.” That was all Shoto had said, making Jirou look over to him with a confused face. Yaomomo then made a small ‘o’, frowning a slight bit as she did. She looked over to you and izuku as you laughed about something silly probably.

“She’s always been really friendly, so I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Yaomomo says.

It became silent for a moment until your loud voice came into earshot.

“And obviously you already know Shoto! These two are Kyoka and Momo! Momo is our vice president and Shoto is our treasurer! Kyoka’s not an official member but she does come and join us sometimes.”

“The shade is insane, y/n.” Jirou shook her head and clicked her tokgue jokingly.

“Anywho…today’s topic will be psychology, sorry for the short notice.” You told the four of them as you got back into work mode. “I wanted to go over a few pieces of advice that we could implement and improve on when it came to emotional value in our writings. I noticed that a few people struggled to vocalize some of their character’s emotions, so I want all of us to help them out with that.” You said as you looked down to your notebook and went over the cute little notes.

Izuku watched you from a couple of steps beside you as you went over tips for the members and visitors of the club. His eyes went over your face as you went over the small details. He slightly coughed into his hand to distract himself.

“We got it?” You asked as you closed your notebook shut, the title being ‘book club help!’

They nodded, Jirou nodding along for funsies, making you laugh. “You’re good at giving advice, you’ll do fine.” Then, you turned to Izuku whose eyes slightly widened when you did so.

“Would you like to watch over us to see if you want to join? We do still need a secretary and a few other positions are open since our other members graduated already.” You asked with a smile, walking away with him as you talked.

“Oh! Yeah, of course! Could I shadow you..if you don’t mind..?” He slowly asked with a small smile.

You nodded excitedly. “Duh! This is my expertise. Plus, I get to know more about you! Ok, ok, club is gonna start soon so we should sit down.”

Izuku nodded as the two of you sat down. You sat at the center whilst Izuku sat on the row behind you. Shoto sat to your left whilst Yaomomo sat to your right. The other official members sat in the same row whilst the visitors sat in the row where Izuku sat at.

‘Here’s to hoping it goes well.’

It was safe to say that it was a long day of helping people, but definitely productive as you listened in to some of Izuku’s advice. You had found out that you were both in a psychology course together but unfortunately at different times.

A long day it was. A long day that would lead into a lot of misunderstandings.

~

—shoto is a nepo baby

—y/n being a good president

—deku was wearing a white compression shirt bcs he was working out with bakugo an hour before that

—jirou bullied u cuz u kept staring at deku

—btw the end does basically summarize the rest of the smau ! (supa cuteness) (i had miscommunication but thats the only conflict i could come up w rn i might change it idk) (I have a few ideas for ANGSTTTTT) (angst is my strongsuit btw...be afraid)

—

Animated dividers created by @/cafekitsune

[tozettastone]

I'm not going to finish this either, but I do think there should be some more fun casefic for the Akatsuki so one day perhaps I'll write one:

---

"You're the best person for the job," Konan admitted. Her eyes were hooded beneath the shadow of her thick dark hair, and her usually serene face was troubled. "But temperamentally you're unsuitable. I wouldn't ask you if I had another option. If Sasori were still here..."

"Itachi?" Kakuzu prodded. It was true that a casino wasn't really the kind of environment in which Kakuzu thrived. He didn't enjoy gambling, partying, or networking.

Sasori wouldn't have been a perfect match, either. He lacked the patience for cover work. But he could count cards, and he had been very beautiful, and had enjoyed being on display.

But there was no use in wishing for the dead to come back.

"I tried. Itachi is sick."

"Still?" He had been getting sicker and sicker, lately. Kakuzu's eyes narrowed.

"Not still. Again." Was that better or worse? "It shouldn't be more than two weeks. The main problem I foresee is the attention."

"I'm not shy," Kakuzu said drily.

He took the mission request from her and examined it. It seemed fairly standard: show up, stay at the same table as Mizashi-san, and find out who he was meeting and why across the ten days of his proposed stay at the event. It was a closed and private event, with heavily vetted security and staff, so the path of least resistance was to buy in as a guest and player. Kakuzu could see that.

Konan sighed quietly. "It's not that. Every high roller in the room will have a companion. It's the fashion now."

"A prostitute?"

"An escort, yes." Konan was, as always, unflappable. "These men and women make good money that way. At the moment we plan to send you unattached, and in that case you should expect to attract a certain amount of... attention." She met his eyes head on. "You can't get frustrated and kill the sex workers."

Kakuzu would have been annoyed by this faithless assessment of his temper... had it been sent less accurate. It was hard to muster irritation when he knew Konan had seen him do that kind of thing at least four times.

"I could bring my own... escort," he said slowly.

There were people Kakuzu had managed to work well with, over his time in the Akatsuki. And they weren't as few and far between as it sounded, either: his habit of killing the people with whom he worked poorly had rather separated the wheat from the chaff, in an intra-organisation sense.

"I'm not temperamentally suited to this mission, either," Konan refuted flatly.

"No," he agreed.

"...Surely you don't want to take Hidan on a cover mission?" Konan's dark eyebrows rose. "To a private party at a casino?"

"Deidara," Kakuzu corrected. Itachi would have been his first pick, but if Itachi had been well enough to complete the mission, Kakuzu would never have even seen this scroll.

Konan blinked. "Deidara," she repeated.

"Yes. Deidara."

"Uh, yeah," came Deidara's voice from the vicinity of the doorway. He was covered in dust and had the defiant air about him that made Kakuzu suspect he'd blown up something important. It was clear in the pugnacious set of his jaw. "That's me?"

Konan turned towards him too. Her eyes lingered on the clay dried to his hem. Her lips thinned.

"Ah. Deidara," she sighed. "Come in. It seems you're right on time."

[keelt9]

Chapter 5

Masterlist

Montreal definitely wins the trophy of the most rainy race until now. When we arrived in Canada, the sky was gray but nothing else. Now, with the beginning of media day, a pretty background with lightning appears earlier in the morning.

As Lewis kept working in his media duties, I was on the rooftop from the hospitality working in layouts Thomas sending me, one of my house and the other for the shelter.

The lighting makes someone curse as it goes up stairs, I giggle when Rosa appears grabbing her chest scanning the room.

“It’s just a lighting Rosa.” She scoffs and sits at the other side of the table.

“You've been working all this time?” I nod and raise an empty bag of snacks, following for a new one I just opened. 

“And eating.” I saved the file to avoid a disaster before closing it and left it aside so I can talk to her without distractions.

Rosa takes the open bag and scrunches her nose. “Dried seaweed?”

I giggle. “I lost a bet with my brother, so he will be choosing my snacks for a whole week.” 

Talking about the king of Rome, Lewis appears in the stairs already changed and pretty excited for the end of a media day.

“You punish her with snacks?” Rosa complained right away, Lewis rolled his eyes, sitting next to me. “She loves her snacks.”

Lewis looked at me as I stuck my tongue out. “She lost! Besides these are healthy ones.” 

I laugh at the same time two lightning flashes appear in the sky. 

“How can you work here? It’s windy, there's lightning and it’s starting to get cold.” Rosa looks at me, relaxing her lethal eyes; at least I have a hoodie to cover me from the wind.

Lewis shakes her hand. “Thank you. Is the same thing I told her.” He scans the rooftop; all the boys and girls of the cafeteria were already in the lounge. “Let’s go, you’re an amused person.”

“There is no one here.” I raise my hands as he takes my laptop. 

Rosa ate seaweed and scrunched her nose standing, like her it took me a while to get used to the flavor.

“From far.” Next to us is the Red Bull hospitality, the upper floor is crowded with cameras and cellphones getting ready for record.

I stand and follow them with my bags in my hands. The salty flavor? Yes, I could get used to it.

The day of P1 came with a slight rain from time to time. I like the rainy days however I hate Lewis having to drive with this kind of weather. 

“Take care ok?” I ask Lewis at the back of the garage. “I’ll be right here.”

Lewis smiles, grabbing my cheek. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry too much.”

Once the member of his team appears in the room, they are ready to go. Lewis smiles at me before walking away. 

All the practice, I was pressing my hands together and cracking my finger trying to stay calm even when all is in total calm; it was until Lewis's car stopped and he got out of the car I could relax a little bit.

We don’t need any words, he just passes next to me and grabs my arm walking away with his team, he’s safe. 

I heard indications that all the cars must be in the garage in 20 minutes, so I reached Bono who’s about to walk inside the room for the feedback with an innocent question in mind.

“Hey Bono, is there a problem if I go and walk along the track for a while?” I don’t see Toto coming too. 

“Little H, give them 30 minutes and you can go.” Toto smiles entering the room.

Bono raises his shoulders. “You hear the boss.”

By the time I see the cars passing in front of the garage and George’s and Lewis’ getting inside too, I see my clock and 40 minutes have already passed.

“Take an umbrella.” Rosa said to me when she saw me walking out of the garage. 

The sky is still cloudy, a few drops won’t hurt me.

“It’s ok, I’ll just be out for a couple of minutes.” I put on a huge black jacket. “This is enough.”

Rosa shakes her head as she keeps talking with her team.

It’s nice to get some fresh air; combined with the few drops over my head that made me feel relaxed, the loud noises from the tools, people and other equipment became distant after a while.

It was the sound of footsteps and faster breathing that made me turn around seeing Max trying to keep his suit race on at the level of his waist.

“Do you have something to do with the rain?” I stop, waiting for him. “In this week, every time there is a high chance of a storm you are sitting or walking around open space.”

Unintentionally the corner of my lips rises as I put my hands on my pockets. For the first time there is not this discomfort sensations with him.

“I believe you don’t have trouble getting wet, a little bit. Do you mind if I join to you?” I see Max with her big jacket too. “A quick walk along the track.”

I breathe in slowly and keep walking, he remains in his spot, so I turn around but don’t stop walking. 

“You coming right?” Max smiles make me smile.

For 40 minutes Max told me about old races on rainy days with stories about mistakes that almost turned into a disaster and funny moments he could remember, the way he speaks and the fact his hands seem to do it too actually made me laugh a couple of times.

Even from time to time I challenge myself by asking him a few questions about him and his first years of racing.

“Aren't you curious? What will be living a day with so many things happening around you.” Max chuckles. 

“I mean, I don’t mind being anonymous from time to time.” We’re walking back to the garage, our clothes weren't damped. The rain stops after a while leaving us with windy weather. “Still, I curious about something.”

He stops talking, making me curious, looking at him. “About?”

“Trying to figure out what you are thinking when you look at me in that way.”

I laugh lightly, it’s not a big change I have towards him, still he notices it. “I guess you're winning the benefit of the doubt.” After all, every conversation we had before I cut it out rudely, this is clearly different.

“I’m taking a pole position?” I genuinely smile at him before turning my face away.

“You have your moments.” The posture of Max relaxes, his shoulders go down even his steps seem light.

He keeps talking about a lot of things and I carefully listen to him until the paddock is a few meters away from us, time to split. 

“I can get used to being surprised by you.” Max said, as we reached the main gates. We visibly relax even if our jackets are clearly  wet.

He looks at the garages and smiles in a wily way. “The Red Bull garage has a nice spot to see the race. Maybe next time you don’t mind seeing different colors in a car.”

“I have a busy diary.” I take my hands from my pockets. “Besides, I'm in the Mercedes team right now.”

Before I could say something else I see Lewis coming out of the garage zone talking with Rosa going to the hospitality.

“I have to go, thanks for walking with me, Max.” I didn’t even reach to give 3 steps when multiple questions attacked my mind.

Bloody hell.

“Max.” I walk back where he remains standing. “I can make you a space… maybe.” 

My phone buzzes the photo Roscoe appears on the screen, it’s Lewis. 

Max didn’t say another word, making me feel shy, so I turned around to keep walking.

“I’ll take it as a <yes>!” Max shouts out as a wide smile appears on his face.

The following days were great for Lewis, he started the race from the second row, making him reach the third position. For my peace I watched the race from the paddock even when the rain stopped hours earlier; there some part of the track still wet, from T.V was hard to see.

Lewis reached me in the hospitality room covered in champagne and a big smile on his face. 

“Congrats!” I stop before hugging him. “Save the hug for later.” 

We high five as he goes to change for the last interviews he had for the day, and we can fly right away to home. We don’t want to miss any birthday of the family if we can be there, even if Lewis could be there just for one day.

I spent that week in London making a quick trip to Newport to see the progress of the house.

“Are you taking Roscoe with you?” Thomas asked as we stood seeing the people working, Roscoe next us. 

“Of course, it’s Austria. Besides, after that I'll be in Monaco for a couple of days sending my things back to London.” I get down, kissing Roscoe's face. “He gives great advice for packing.”

Thomas laughs. “Have you already mentioned something to Lewis?” 

I sigh. “I will, in Monaco.” 

After long days of thinking and talking with friends and family I decided it’s time to stop my travels around the world; with the places set for the shelter and my house along the crucial moment of finishing the project, I need a place to stay calm and be close in case something comes up. That’s why the last GP I will be with my brother, be the one previous to summer break.

“Are you sure? I mean I can keep you informed about every single thing if you need.” Thomas already suggested to me at least I should close this season with Lewis.

“Do you know how tiring it is to travel every week?” I roll my eyes and shake my head. “This is temporary, I don’t want you to screw my house.” 

Thomas scoffed and put his arm around my shoulder looking around. He, like Mika, stands next to me in the worst times, making me aware every day, if I feel the strength left in my body, I always can lead on them.

“This is a nice place to start, after all.” Roscoe barks, calling for us to pay attention. “Don’t worry buddy, I’ll make this a fortress but at the same time I built a nice garden for you.” 

It’s the bulls house, so a lot of his colors were in the fences and every visible place. We arrived in Austria one day before the race, but Lewis suggested that Roscoe and I stay in the hotel, by the time we arrive they would probably be finishing the qualy. 

So that’s what we do, Roscoe and I relax in the hotel near to the pool when Lewis reach us. Roscoe immediately notices him running, pretty excited for the way his little tail moves.

“Hi there.” Lewis hugs me sitting next to me. “How was the flight?” He asked if we didn’t take his jet with us.

“Calm, private.” He laughs. “A tricky day tomorrow, right?” 

Lewis bluffs and assents. “Not the best spot, but we will work on that tomorrow. Anyway, are you hungry?“

Roscoe barks. “We do.” Lewis chuckles while standing so we can go to eat something.

We came back at night tired and stuffed, as I told him the idea of Thomas about the refuge like me, he’s pleased.

“Oh, I have the tickets for the race.” Lewis invited them to the GP of Silverston, the next race in two weeks. “I’ll give it to you at home, ok?”

As we’re waiting for the lift, Roscoe barks when the door opens, Leo in Alex's arms. 

“Young boy, hi.” I greet Leo when they come out. “Charles, Alex, goodnight too.” 

The couple giggles and lets Leo on the ground for the dogs to say hi. 

“Y/N, Max was looking for you.” I choke with my own saliva winning the eyes of three people and two dogs. 

“Are you all right?” Alex asks but I just nod. Thankfully the people who were waiting came out in the other lift, avoiding the talk.

Inside of the lift, I feel Lewis' eyes on me. “You’re taking Roscoe for the night? I ask, trying to switch the topic keeps floating in the air.

“Yeah, I’ll take him to the track.” He simply answered and didn’t say anything else. When the lift reached my floor I thought I would avoid an uncomfortable talk.

“See you tomorrow.” I kiss both of them but Lewis holds the door for a second.

“You know you can talk with me about everything, right?” I almost avoid it. 

“I know.” I reassure him with a smile waving my hand as the door closes. 

In my room, I hide my face on the bed, feeling embarrassed, but the constant buzz of my phone makes me answer the video call.

“Jesus! You scare me!” Mike fakes surprise for my messy hair. “Are you blushing?”

Oh my word, I shake my head, and breath in trying to calm. 

“Is that all?” Mika giggles and raises her hand. 

“Hey, it’s quick, the green one or the blue one?” She raises two dresses in front of her.

“Is it for your date with Thomas?” I wink at her, now who’s blushing. 

Thomas and Mika had a couple of dates, claiming it’s just a friend's meal, but I’ve seen the way they look at each other, and that’s a lame excuse.

“Y/N, focus.” I laugh but I choose the green one. “I have time, you can talk all the time you want.”

Mika, every time she’s nervous, she talks without anything could stop her. 

In the middle of our talk about a funny consultation she had that morning, a soft knock on my door distracted me.

“It’s ok, I almost finish.” She is straighten her hair. 

I shake my head, I wasn't waiting for anyone. “No, it’s ok, Lewis knocked three times before entering.”

After a few seconds, I hear the knock one more time, maybe it’s important after all.

“Sorry Mika.” She smiles and stands in front of the camera giving me a full look of her. “He’s done.” 

Mika winks before saying goodbye to hanging out. 

I walk to the door, as I was talking with Mika I change my clothes for my pjs, I open without even asking, the tiredness taking my body, and close it right away.

Max is at the other side of the door in black shirt with black bags. 

After a long breath, I opened it one more time. “Sorry, you took me by surprise.” 

Max nod and clear his throat. “Sorry, it’s late I know but …” His cheeks are softly turning pink. “Here.”

It's a VIP pass, I choke my head. “Thanks? I mean, I already have one.” I take it from his hands turning around. I see it, it’s from RB garage.

I bite the inside of my cheeks, feeling awkward. “You know I don’t mean a right away invitation, right?”

In Max's face you can see the confirmation of his worst scenario.

“Of course, I imagine that so I came prepared. This is for any GP, when you feel ready to come.” He has that cute smile one more time.

I nod and keep it. “Good night Max.” 

“But.” He closed his eyes. “I'll make my open invitation valid.”

This boy confuses me so easily.

“Checo mentioned you visited Lewis constantly, right?” I nodded slowly. “Would you have a walk with me next time?”

His eyes were closed one more time so he didn't see me smiling at him.

“It's not for being rude but when I'm in Lewis' home it is practically for me to be working on endless paperwork or packing some things I have there…So, I don't have so much time for walking around.” Isn't a lie but I hope Max doesn't feel I turned him down in a rude way, again.

“Perfect! I could help you with that.” He surprised me that I couldn't answer right away. “If you don't mind, of course.”

“Mhm, no, I…I…I don't want you to feel bored or anything like that, so it's ok, we can leave it open.” My mind is struggling to find another excuse.

“It's ok, I don't mind, we talk more comfortably.” He answered calmly, extending his hand for a shake.“Deal?”

I tightened my fist, he raised his eyebrows in a funny way.

I take his hand. “Deal.”

Lewis is right, the race for him simply doesn't go as he expects leaving him in the 8th position. 

After his interviews he always finds a moment of calm along Roscoe; who as typical of him steals glances and hearts from everyone.

When finally we can go home, I see in the RB hospitality a lot of people with happy and exciting expressions, and the multiple race winner in the middle of it.

“Ready?” Lewis asked, coming out ready to go.

“Yeah, let's go.” I take a last look at a victorious Max.

By the second day in Monaco Lewis forgot he had tickets for the Roland Garro in France, he invited me too but there are things to send to London in a few days.

“Are you going to be fine?” Lewis asked, giving Roscoe a piece of celery.

“Sure. We wait here for you to take us home.” Lewis giggles. “Have fun, we have a lot of packing and arrangements, don't worry.”

It's been half of a week in Monaco and Max doesn't give any signs of life, so he probably gets it that being stuck inside of the apartment when he can enjoy the no race week, is a waste of time.

“Hey, it's okay if I invite a friend to help me with…?” Although I couldn't avoid asking 

“It's your house too.” He stands to cut more fruit for us. “I'll be back Wednesday night.”

“Is anything granted, just in case.” Roscoe sees me and growls a little bit. “What?” I whisper to him.

Roscoe walks to his bed taking with him the fluffy lion. “And you’re judging me?” 

“I promise, when you come to my new house, I'll make more than pancakes.” Roscoe licked his nose before we came out of the building.

I turned to my left slightly, then I saw Max in casual jeans walking inside the building.

“This isn't…Come here, baby.” Roscoe follows me as we follow Max reaching him outside of the lift. “Max?” 

He turns around surprised to find us. 

“Hi, I was about to go up.” He petted Roscoe's head. “I guess you're already finished, right?”

“For the…” He nods. “No, I mean, yes, I…I could say that.” I cover my eyes trying to put my ideas in order.

“I mean, yes, I already finished, my brother helped a lot.” Max put his hands in his pockets. 

“Sorry, I have a busy week and well, it would be weird if I call Lewis for he let you know that.” He laughs.

“It's ok, I just have to close a few boxes and put in order a couple of files, I appreciate you coming.” He smirks, I narrow my eyes.

“I will help you with that.” I shake my head. “A good talk will be helpful after all these days.”

That's how we end up in Lewis apartment putting tapes over the boxes and putting papers in order. 

Max was entertaining with something until I realized he was reading the papers of the refuge.

“This is yours?” I nod but I don't take it so much importance. “You have a refuge?”

I walked to see what caught his attention, the sketch of the logo. “Not yet.”

Max sits on the floor reading carefully as he keeps asking me questions about the refuge and all related too; without realizing I ended up telling him about my journey with this project sitting in front of him, on the floor of Lewis living room.

“This seems pretty good, of course I'm not an expert but hey.” He lifted the paper with the final sketch. “This is awesome.”

I feel flatter even with an unusual warmth on my cheek.

“I’m afraid.” I let it out without a filter. “I know I can deal with something like this is just…” I see Roscoe sleeping peacefully. “I don't want to let down anyone, especially Lewis, not after…”

The imagene of Lewis holding me tight on those dark days helps to realize Max's eyes shift, it’s like looking at a calm sea.. 

“I just don’t want to mess up anything.” Max stretched his back giving me the papers. 

“Listen, if you ever need a hand, give me a call.” He stands and picks up his phone, I didn’t even realize someone is calling him. “Just a second.”

He walks to the other side of the room giving me time to calm down a little bit, when he comes back, apologizes but he has to go. I walk with him until the door to say goodbye, just when he walks away…I notice something different.

“Hey Max!” He turns around, raising his eyebrows. “Thanks…for everything, the talk, the packing, the vitamins.” 

Max smiles and takes a deep breath, speaking in a teaser tone. “Well, I scored some points for a small visit to the garage.” 

My answer is a small smile which makes him press his lips together while containing a smile. 

When he goes into the lift I walk back to the living room, shaking my head and putting the last papers in their respective box, but at the corner of one of the sketches Max was seeing there was a small note, along with his number.

>+1  ;)

[cynicalrosebud]

Rumor Has It (9)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

CW: Adult clubs, sex, flirting, implications, you are responsible for your own media consumption

Rumor lingered by the hangar, watching as the rest of the team went off to debrief. He knew he couldn’t avoid Nikolai forever, not after what had just gone down in front of everyone. As the others disappeared, Nikolai finally approached, his boots barely making a sound against the concrete. The familiar scent of leather and gunpowder lingered in the air around him.

“You have been avoiding me,” Nikolai said, voice casual but with a knowing edge.

Rumor gave a half-hearted shrug, refusing to meet his eyes. “Ye know how it is. Busy with the missions... lads always needing somethin’.” He shifted his weight, suddenly feeling the press of old memories and emotions he’d thought he’d buried.

Nikolai chuckled softly, his voice low and smooth. “And yet, you find yourself here, alone. Waiting for me?”

Rumor turned to face him, eyes narrowing. “Wasn’t exactly waiting, mate.”

“Oh?” Nikolai took a step closer, his presence as commanding as ever. “Then why not leave with your team?”

Rumor could feel the heat rising to his face again, the tension between them thick in the air. “Maybe I thought we needed ta clear the air. After... well, ye know.”

Nikolai’s smile was slow and knowing, the kind that always made Rumor’s heart race. “Ah, yes. That night.” He tilted his head, studying Rumor with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. “It was... memorable, was it not?”

Rumor huffed, trying to keep his cool despite the growing pressure in his chest. “That’s one word for it.”

Nikolai stepped closer again, his hand reaching out to gently tilt Rumor’s chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. “You have changed, Rumor. But you are still you. Still the man I remember.” His thumb brushed the edge of Rumor’s jaw, sending a shiver down his spine.

Rumor swallowed hard, his voice a little too tight. “Yeah? And what man’s that, Nik?”

Nikolai’s grin softened, a glint of something fond behind his teasing tone. “The one who needs control more than he admits... but still craves giving it up to the right person.”

Rumor’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of Nikolai’s words settling heavy on his chest. Memories of that night came flooding back, of the way he’d felt completely at Nikolai’s mercy—safe, exposed, and terrified all at once.

“You always did have a way with words,” Rumor muttered, trying to mask the way his heart was pounding.

Nikolai chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “I am just observant.” He finally let go of Rumor’s chin, but the space between them felt even smaller now. “We both know there is something here. There always was.”

Rumor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to get a handle on his thoughts. “Maybe. But we were different then.”

Nikolai’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked less like the cocky pilot and more like someone Rumor had once trusted, had once given more of himself to than he’d ever intended. “People change, Rumor. But some things stay the same.”

Rumor didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Nik, about back there... with the lads...”

Nikolai raised an eyebrow, amused. “Embarrassed?”

Rumor scoffed, though the heat in his face betrayed him. “Not embarrassed. Just didn’t expect them te find out.”

Nikolai’s laugh was soft, his voice teasing. “They would have found out sooner or later. But I think they enjoyed it, don’t you?”

Rumor rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, aye. They’ll be on my arse about it for weeks.”

Nikolai smirked, leaning in slightly. “Well, they don’t need to know everything.”

Rumor shot him a look. “Don’t push your luck.”

Nikolai’s smile turned playful, his voice dropping lower. “I never do, little mouse. I just know how to read you.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the air between them heavy with things left unsaid. Despite everything—despite the time, the missions, and the miles that had stretched between them—there was still something there. Something neither of them could quite let go of.

Finally, Nikolai stepped back, giving Rumor some space. “I am glad we had this talk,” he said, his tone sincere.

Rumor nodded, feeling both relieved and a little unsettled. “Yeah. Me too.”

As they moved to go about their business, Rumor called after Nikolai, his voice lowered slightly. “Yer still gonna pay for that teasing later.”

Nikolai chuckled, his voice low and teasing. “I look forward to it, little mouse.”

Nikolai gave him one last, lingering look before turning to leave. As he walked away, Rumor let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He might have changed, but some parts of him were still tethered to the past—and to Nikolai.

[dallonwrites]

new twin lore ruining my life. dorothy helped teach her brother how to drive!!! she probably sat in the car with him in an empty parking lot and helped him!! and she knows how much driving freaks him out!! recounting is not enough i need to see this in scene form wtf if only the author would write that

[jvpiterstears]

if you make any sour screen (taco x mepad) art tag me in it i need more of them. literally just tag me if you make platonic art of them I NEED MORE SO BAD. MORE MORE MORE!!!

breaking news local american kid goes feral over a fucking taco and a purple tablet.

also PLEASE send me any headcanons you have of them they’re so silly i would love to share the ship with other people

please i’m literally the biggest sour screen shipper. trust. trust LLEASE EEEEE EPLEASE PLEASE. i’ve shipped them since before this year even started. i’m serious. they’re so cuteeee uhghGHHHHH

[angiestown]

[kishimotomasashi]

“Civilization is coming. And it means to exterminate us.”

Naruto Shippuden (2007) // Black Sails (2014)

[laplacesdevil]

I can now spread my propaganda of Jeremy as phone dude. AND objectum